


Rooftop Daffodils

by LilithOfTheAlley



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Established Karl Jacobs/Sapnap, Fate & Destiny, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Gardens & Gardening, Hidden Lore, Hurt/Comfort, Language of Flowers, Light Angst, M/M, Main Character "Death", Mild Smut, New Beginnings, Not Beta Read, Pining, Slow Burn, Superstition, gardening club au, no beta we die like george in manhunt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:08:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 21,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29127003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilithOfTheAlley/pseuds/LilithOfTheAlley
Summary: George is looking for a new beginning and Clay may have just what he needs.Two boys meet on a rooftop - one with a cigarette, one with a lighter - and a pot of daffodils that changes it all.───── ❃ ─────alt: two friends grow flowers on their school’s rooftop, they might kiss <3
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Karl Jacobs/Sapnap
Comments: 46
Kudos: 187





	1. Daffodils

**Author's Note:**

> Hello? Hello! Welcome to my first published fanfic! That being said, please take care of me.
> 
> For the most part, ‘Rooftop Daffodils’ is just your ordinary everyday High School AU. But as you may have noticed and will probably notice, THE story itself...
> 
> May not always be just what it seems ;)
> 
> On the other hand, THIS story will have a bad ending, if you haven’t already seen the **MAJOR CHARACTER “DEATH”** tag.
> 
> Mature themes may include: underage drinking and smoking, abuse, discussions of terminal illness, anxiety, depression and sexual references.
> 
> Once again, thank you all so much for your support and without further ado! Enjoy!
> 
> XOXO,  
> Lilith Of The Alley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **daffodil**   
>  **/ˈdafədɪl/**   
>  **noun**   
>  **1\. a bulbous European plant that typically bears bright yellow flowers with a long trumpet-shaped centre.**   
>  **2\. new beginnings.**   
>  **3\. rebirth.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: underage smoking, sexual innuendos
> 
> if you haven’t checked the earlier notes already, i suggest you do, especially for the recurring themes as they may be triggering, but i’ll definitely do my best to put triggers for some of the more intense sections, so don’t worry :)

A shadow spirals upwards; it casts over his feet, with every step becoming seemingly more and more endless. It's high noon, and usually, George would be in maths, learning and picking away at calculus, but now wasn't the time for that. Like drumming fingers, his footsteps are quick and staccato against the heavy concrete stairs because this was it - a new beginning.

_His new beginning._

And with a deep breath, he grips the knob tightly, scowling when the cold metal burns him. Stiffly, he flicks his wrist, and the door flings open. The cool northern breeze immediately embraces him with its ghostly fingers. He roams over to the balcony, leaning over its railings and sticking the cap of his shoe through the small gap.

There was no going back now, and he knew it.

With his right hand, he rummages through his jacket's pocket, past a scrunched up piece of tissue and a stray silver quarter before pulling out a packet of old but untouched cigarettes. 

Everything about it screams a mistake, from the blatantly bold yellow warning sign to the gruesome pair of lungs exhibited on the packaging's front. George draws one out, tweedling with it and rolling it left to right over his chapped bottom lip. He breathes in as a rehearsal, surfacing a memory:

_"Georgie, I'm home!"_

It's an uninvited interruption. George recoils, callously shoving the memory back to the back of his mind.

With his left hand, he pats down his other pocket to find that it is empty. "Damn it, damn it, damn it!" he curses. 

How could he forget? He grips the pocket's seams with his nails and even tighter when he hears the sounds around him get clearer, from the shrieks of the birds to the hisses of the wind - _everything._

_"Georgie, Georgie, I'm home! Come out, come out wherever you are!"_

George's exhales slowly. He doesn't need smoke for the air to get sucked out of his lungs, making him faint with panic.

_"George, I swear if you don't come out right now, I'm going to-"_

"Need a light?"

It's a new voice. George snaps his head around, biting through the dizzy fog, and behind the open roof door, he sees two legs extend out.

Someone else was here with him the _whole_ time. 

But before he gets the chance to ask who, be it by destiny (or dramatic plot convenience *wink wink*), the door slams shut, answering it for him.

And as if George's lungs still had more air to give, his breath hitches. It's the most beautiful sight he's ever seen.

"Hello?" the mysterious boy speaks. It's a low but soft voice like he has just woken up in the morning, and George SWOONS at it.

He blinks. Twice. _Snap out of it,_ he thinks, trying to reprimand his lengthy gape. Still, George can't help it when he sees the shiny strands of dirty blond hair peeking out from under the student's hood and his soft yellow eyes. And though he's wearing a simple store-bought hooded sweatshirt, it does George's heart no favour as it hugs his toned figure. Hopelessly eager, his eyes are about to trail down even _further_ when he discerns a marked out smiley face on his hoodie - a hard signature to miss.

He gulps, recognising to his colourblind ass' dismay, the nameless teenager's hoodie was, in fact, not a pissy yellow like he thought, but a vibrant hue of lime green.

_Dream._

George shifts uncomfortably in his spot, only now averting his gaze. As captain and star quarterback of the football team, Clay was someone far out of his league in both looks and popularity. And George, being a year older than him, has never formally met Dream in person. Though they did have one class together, they sat rows apart, oceans away as always in their respective cliques.

That is, until now.

Now, they were only a few metres apart, and George could see the light freckles that dusted his face like constellations in the night sky. 

_Wow, he even looks like a dream._

George catches his mouth.

_Did I seriously say that out loud?!_

An awkward confusion hangs in the air, and all George wants to is to bury himself in a hole.

“Pfft-” A loud wheeze follows him to his grave, “T-thanks?” Dream manages between chuckles, his hand steadying his puffing chest.

_Oh my god, this is so embarrassing, argh what if he thinks I’m one of his weird fangirls or something I-_

“George, right?”

_Why does he know me? How does he know me?! HOW DOES DREAM OF ALL PEOPLE KNOW ME?!_

“I read the paper you wrote for programming class,” Dream continues, “the one on Kruskal’s tree algorithm?” 

George nods meekly, "And...did you like it?" 

Dream smiles sympathetically at the Brit’s obvious internal panic. He holds out his hand, offering the hesitant brunette his lighter. “Yeah, I really liked it."

“T-thanks,” George splutters with the cigarette in his mouth, his sweaty hands fumbling with the lighter's wheel. He's practically melting from his gaze. “I-I- it’s my first time smoking, so I’m not good at this and like-”

He was so focused on sparking the wheel he did not notice Clay close the distance between them. Breaths apart, his rough and calloused fingers fit over his, guiding them to press down on the wheel. 

A spark ignites at the end of the cigarette.

The flame dances between them. Clay looks down on him with glassy, dilated yellow eyes. A dark rouge burns into his face, thankfully veiled by the black fumes.

“So, how is it?”

“So how is what?”

“How’s the cigarette?” Dream asks, slowly lifting his hands away.

George whimpers slightly at the loss of his newfound warmth. He hates how cold it is, how overwhelmingly bitter the tobacco is.

So bitter, he chokes, “What the hell?! How could sh- who in their right- mind would ever like something like- this?!”

He drops it on the floor, ruthlessly stubbing it out with his heel and vigorously wiping the metallic taste away with his sweater’s sleeves.

Dream breaks into cackles at George’s exaggerated motion, rolling on the floor in a hysterical fit.

“H-hey! I didn’t expect it to taste like- like THAT.”

“So? What did you- expect it to taste like?!”

“I- I don’t know, maybe like smoky chocolate?!”

"WHAT?!"

George flinches at the loudness of his voice and the weight of what he just _admitted._ He looks to Clay, now out of breath and too busy wheezing.

*wheeze* “Sorry it’s jus-” *wheeze* “you should have seen the look on your-” *wheeze*

He stares the younger down, waiting for him to stop wheezing like a tea kettle. “You wheeze like a maniac!”

“And I didn’t take you for such a bad boy Georgie ~”

"What the-"

George blushes. He knew Dream was one of those people who just had an _effect_ on everyone around him, drawing them in with his dashing looks and charismatic charm. A notorious playboy, but to think he was that BOLD-

“You think I’m trying to get into your pants, don’t you?” 

“Yes, I mean, NO! NO, I DON’T!” 

"Oh George, and here I thought you were an innocent twink. I don't usually think with my dick that quickly," the taller slurs, giving him a shit-eating grin, "but if anyone is going to spread their legs and get a new world record for me, I'm sure it'd be you~"

"I- oh my god," George covers his face in embarrassment at the momentary tightness in his pants.

"So Georgie~"

His stomach flips at the nickname.

"Y-yes?"

“Why exactly are you out here skipping classes?”

“Am I not allowed to skip classes?”

“Um- yeah?!” Dream exclaims, bursting out into laughter. 

George feels his cheeks curve up into a giggle, “You know that is not what I meant!”

“Mhm, so what exactly do you mean, George? Why is a straight-A student like yourself playing hooky with me on the roof?”

“First of all, I do NOT want to play hooky with YOU.”

“Hey! What’s there not to like?” Dream flexes, gesturing to his body.

George snickers and rolls his eyes. “Secondly, I was- I don’t know, just tired I guess? Like I needed a breath of fresh air...” he trails, his voice tight with a subtle downcast.

“I don’t think a cigarette counts as a breath of fresh air.”

“Ha,” George exhales, “it does to me.”

“...”

George turns away, grateful when Dream doesn't decide to probe any further. To take his mind off, he studies the roof. It is a relatively spacious place, large enough to fit at least a car. There are also a lot of containers and tools just lying around. They look poorly maintained: rusting at the edges and dented at points.

“Right, you only transferred here this year. This place used to be a nice hangout spot with flowers and all that,” Dream hums. It's soothing. "Left them here when the old gardening club graduated and disbanded.” 

It did seem like they have been left here for a while. From the corner of his eye, he catches a pot of yellow daffodils. 

"Pretty," he comments. Dream grunts behind him; he ignores it to the blonde's relief. He was blushing, not because he was thinking the same thing, but because he was thinking of Ge-...of someone else...when the brunette said it.

“I thought daffodils only bloom in the spring?” Unlike the rest of the flowers that have slanted and wilted, the daffodils stand upright, fanning widely - blooming. George, inexplicably drawn to it, traces its sunshine-yellow petals with his fingertips. They are satin soft but not as delicate as he had thought.

Dream coughs and shrugs, “That's what I thought too, every other flower had already bloomed by spring, but this one only started in September.”

George leans in further to look at the soil. It is dry and cracked, barely holding together.

“Hey Dream, do you have any water?” he requests, feeling like the parched plant could use some.

Dream shakes his head, stopping in thought before signalling towards the bottle next to his bag:

‘GATORADE: COOL BLUE™’

"Uh..."

"No?” 

"And you call me stupid for thinking cigarettes taste like chocolate."

"What! It's got electrolytes and all those alphabetical minerals! Plants need that shit right?"

George arches his eyebrow in alarm. 

“Fuck, ok, ok, how about..." Dream shuffles to the pile of leftover gardening equipment, picking out a hose, attaching the end under a water tap and striding over to George. “Here,” he offers, handing George the end of the hose.

"Than- AAªAåHH!" Water gushes out, spraying all over the older. "DREAM!"

“Oops, sorry! My bad!” Dream shouts and turns the tap off quickly, still a bit stunned by the brunette's deafening scream.

The brunette narrows his eyes in annoyance and repositions the hose at the soil, “Ok, Dream, you can turn it on SLOWLY now.”

George crosses his fingers together, and he does. This time, the water flows out gently onto the arid soil, its waves washing over the daffodils like relief. The leaves perk up at him, and he can’t help but beam at it. 

“Looks better now, doesn’t it?”

Clay suddenly crouches down next to him, making George jump in surprise, the hose accidentally aiming towards him. George quickly presses down on the hose’s tip, but all it does is detonates the built-up pressure.

“What the hell! George! Give me that!” Dream yells playfully, combing his dripping hair back.

Butterflies flutter in his stomach, making him feel even more light and dizzy. Under this spell, the hose is taken from his hand, not registering it in time until it directs at him. “Dream...you don’t want to do this...”

“And why not?” 

“Because I’ll get wet again!”

George relaxes for a second when he sees Clay lower the hose but regrets it - and I mean _regrets_ it whole-heartedly - when he sees Dream’s insinuating smirk. 

Uh oh.

"I would quite like that actually~"

“What- DREAM!!!” George screams, folding his hands in front of his face to shield himself from the blast. 

“OH GEORGE!”

They scuttle to their feet, scrambling at each other for the hose, their laughter drowning out the ring of the school’s bell. 

Soaked by the end of it, clothes sticking their chests and rosy from the nipping wind, they were lost, completely and utterly to each other's company. 

It is an oddly wistful new beginning, definitely not what George had expected when he forgot his sister's lighter on the kitchen counter this morning, but it is a new beginning nonetheless. 

One with a lighter and one with an abandoned box of cigarettes - _and it was all theirs._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **??? Notes**   
>  **The best time to plant daffodil bulbs is in the fall when the seeds have cooled off.**   
>  **1\. Plant the daffodil bulbs about 4-6” deep and 3-4” apart, placing them in the soil with their pointy ends up.**   
>  **2\. Regularly water, especially in dry weather.**   
>  **3\. As the flowers fade after blooming in spring, deadhead them and allow leaves to remain for at least 6 weeks.**   
>  **4\. Lift and divide the clumps when flowering becomes sparse or the clumps congested.**


	2. Bluebells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **bluebell**   
>  **/ˈbluːbɛl/**   
>  **noun**   
>  **1\. a European woodland plant of the lily family that produces clusters of blue bell-shaped flowers in spring.**   
>  **2\. constancy.**   
>  **3\. humility.**   
>  **4\. gratitude.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: sapnap /j  
> also, i’ve never actually gardened before, so don’t go and follow any of the instructions, i don’t wanna be liable for dead plants.
> 
> enjoy <3

Ever since that winter day on the roof, Dream and George had swiftly become very close, often skipping classes together to hang out on the rooftop. On some days, they would talk about nothing in particular, opting to sit with each other in comfortable silence instead. On other days they would talk for hours, bonding over their likes, dislikes and hobbies. 

And Dream soon learnt that despite George’s quiet and withdrawn demeanour, the brunette was sharp-witted, funny - and naturally fascinated. He could go on and on about anything interesting he came across; the taller would barely get a word in. Not that Clay minded anyways, especially not at the way his eyes would light up.

_Bright._

Even brighter than the enormous floodlights that blinded the football field when he played at night, and likewise, they always blinded him:

_“Ooo, look! Aren’t these ones really pretty, Dream?” George exclaimed excitingly, nudging him to look at the flowers on his phone._

For the last couple of weeks, George had been watering the pot of daffodils regularly and writing notes in a journal after taking a liking to the subject, and even more so when he found out what they meant.

_"New beginnings.”_

It felt reassuring - fated almost. As if God was watching over him, giving him a sign that everything might just be okay. They were scrolling through a webpage about flowers and their meanings, and just the other day, it was a bouquet of bluebells that caught his eye.

_“Gratitude. Humility. Constancy...”_

And George's favourite colour, Clay noted.

_“...it also says if you wear a wreath of bluebells you will only be able to speak the truth, and...”_

Clay couldn’t help but smile at the older’s flower antics. It made him bubble up in warmth, and he loved it, so much so he essentially ended up buying out the entire garden centre, even though he only intended to gift several bluebell bulbs for it.

For him.

“Ok, it states here to plant the dry bulbs at least 10cm deep and 10cm apart,” George instructs in the present day, taking out his ruler and measuring the soil for the bluebell bulbs.

“Hmm...that’s like 4 inches right?”

He hums in confirmation.

Clay sneers, “...4 inches deep Georgie~”

“DREAM!”

*WHEEZE*

“An-anyways,” George stammers, clearing his throat, “once you’re done with yours, water them and move them over there. I’m gonna go clean up.”

Dream nods, swiftly covering the bulbs with soil and showering them with some water. He lifts the container over to the area George indicated, making sure to position it in a partial shade. 

He grunts, wiping the slick sweat off his forehead and walking to the faucet to wash his hands. George is also there, still scrubbing the equipment when he squats next to him for the tap.

“Fuck off Dream,” George voices.

“George!” he feigns hurt, giving the Brit a mischievous grin and smacking his hands away from the tap, and George dittos, shoving his hand back under the water whilst purposely splashing Dream.

Their hands would rub against each other occasionally, the heat sending tingles down George’s spine, making him self-consciously burn up and stiff. Dream, on the other hand, is too caught up in their water squabble. His competitive nature takes over, wanting to see more of the brunette's amusing reactions. He wants to make George _wet,_ wait no, that was a horrible choice of words, he wanted to make George _drenched_ , so drenched his clothes would _stick_ to his chest.

 _Yeah, that didn't sound any better,_ the blonde cringed, tearing his eyes away from George (and his assets LMAO) to collect himself. Big mistake. The smaller took the opportunity to dump a whole watering can down his back. "What the hell, George!"

George giggles and something about it is so criminally beautiful to Dream. Maybe it's because of the unremorseful grin on his face or the way his fluffy brown hair looks lighter under the sun, but it makes him dumbstruck either way. 

Another full-on water fight was on the verge of breaking out until...

*ring ring*

They both stop to listen, attempting to identify whose phone is ringing.

*ring ring*

“Hey, Dream? Aren’t you going to get that?” 

*ring ring*

Dream groans, pulling away to glance over at his phone:

‘Texan Panda 🤠🐼’

"...Nah."

"If you say so," George shrugs.

Clay takes out his extra hoodie from his bag, slipping out of his wet clothes and putting it on, not missing the way the Brit turns beet red. "Georgie~"

"What?" he snaps. Though he probably meant to come off as angry, Dream knows otherwise when George avoids eye contact.

"Your sweater looks a bit wet. You sure you're not cold~?"

"No, no, I'm not," George answers, rejecting his offer to come closer to him. 

Dream sighs. Of course, he was just teasing him, but for some reason, he also felt a twinge of dissapointment.

The two boys finish cleaning up, settling on the hard floor for a break. Ironically, George does move closer to Dream, using the older's bigger figure to block himself from the chilling wind, and he doesn't complain either when Clay moves even closer to shield him.

George takes the opportunity to get some work done. After all, he was still planning to graduate this year. Yeah, he was already skipping classes, nonetheless, he also needed to keep his grades up to graduate.

He pulls out a folder from his bag, much to Dream’s annoyance. The blonde scoots even closer, impatiently tapping on the brunette's thigh to seize his attention.

"What Dream?" 

Dream twinkles: and though he didn't have a tail, George could imagine it wagging side-to-side non-stop. “What are you reading?”

"The downfall of the Essempy Kingdom," George mutters, looking back to his papers to distract himself from the urge to pet his puppy-like friend, "I have to write a report on it."

"History?"

"Mhm."

With nothing else better to do, Clay peers at his printed notes, reading along. "That dude kind of looks like me," he comments, pointing at a diagram of the late medieval kingdom's king.

"In what way?" George asks. Sure, the person in the portrait resembles Clay's prideful frame and stance, but he also wore a porcelain mask which made it very difficult to see his face, with only a scar visible from his chin down.

"Well, for starters, he's hot."

"Dream, he's a tyrant."

"Yeah, but he's hot."

"He's a psychopath!"

"And that's hot."

"Do you have a kink for tyrants or something?!"

"You don't?!" Dream jokingly answers. George raises his eyebrow and pulls his legs away, closing his notes shut before Dream could comment any further. "Wow, George! Rude much? And here I thought all British people were supposed to be polite."

George clears his throat sarcastically. "Right, sorry, I guess, I'm just built different."

"You're such an idiot," Dream replies, rolling his eyes when George proudly snickers at the very thick British accent he put on.

"Posh posh, go on now and fetch me a cuppa tea, love."

Dream's mouth subtly gapes at being called 'love'. He swallows. It made the butterflies in his stomach giddy and ready to flutter out. He knows he shouldn’t be affected by this. It was just typical British slang and nothing else, right? “O-of course,” he swallows again at George’s expecting look, admittedly needing a moment to gather himself into his signature smirk, “anything for you, your majesty.”

"...Anything?" George inquires, curious at the younger's proposal.

“Anything~” he slurs, and without batting an eye, flickers his gaze down to George’s cro-

George's expression warps into one of horror, defensively tugging his knees towards himself, “What the hell! Dream!”

Dream wheezes, innocently raising his shoulders.

"DREAM HAS A KINK FOR TYRANTS!" George screams, reaching the other rooftops with the top of his lungs.

“NO- NO I DON’T,” Dream rebukes hastily, scrambling forward to put his hand on George’s mouth to shut him up.

"Mmhm!" George complains, his protests muffled, trying to push the younger away. His flimsy computer desk muscles can't overpower the steady grip on his shoulders, but maybe his brain can. Dream feels George smirk against his hand. 

"What are you-?" There's a warm breath against his palm, and George sticks his tongue out. "GEORGE!"

"Hahaha, you should have seen the look on your face!" he mocks. And oh, was he giving Dream a run for his money. The taller is so flustered he can't even get coherent sentences out. "Payback," George boastfully declares, returning to his history folder.

Dream rolls his eyes defeatedly, dusting himself and wiping his hand on his hoodie before settling back down next to George. This time, he knows better, deciding to leave the brunette alone to study for now. He scrolls through his phone, his heart becoming warm when he hears the boy next to him yawn.

He shuffles closer to him, purposely offering his shoulder to the sleepy studious teen. Clay doesn't expect him to take it, so when he feels a weight drop down on him, he becomes stiff. He opens his mouth to tease about it, but his words become lost to the cool winter air as warm breaths of adoration. George is lying on his shoulder, small snores coming out from his slightly gaped pink lips. It's cute. 

"Blackmail." Dream grins, snapping a photo of him and spending an ungodly amount of time looking at it in his camera roll. He finally takes his eyes off it, only to look back at the present sleeping brunette next to him. Clay takes another picture at the back of his mind - an everlasting memory.

For an everlasting love.

───── ❃ ─────

Stomp. Stomp. Stomp.

Footsteps. Heavy and approaching. It wakes George up and he meets Dream’s eyes in urgency. Teachers? No way...classes should still be going on right now, and he doubts their Principal, Mr Schlatt, would ever bother chasing a few missing students- 

The roof door slams open.

“HEY DREAM!!!”

He falls back a little from the booming voice, breathing out in relief when he realises that it isn't a teacher but a student and a football member judging by his jersey. With ravenous black-brown hair and a white headband tied around his forehead, George recognises this to be none other than the popular Texan, Sapnap.

Dream mummers in both annoyance and relief, “What do you want, Sapnap?”

"Dream!" He stomps over to swat Dream him brutally multiple times in the back, who just pulls that face like he was used to it. "Where was your piss ass at break today?! I had to deal with that little bitch Tommy all by myself!"

“Right, that's today,” Dream groans, rubbing his forehead, “I forgot.”

Sapnap forcefully ruffles Dream’s hair, almost pushing him over a couple of times whilst Dream tries to shove his face away.

George lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding. From the looks of it, they seem close. VERY close.

It makes him feel out of place. A reminder of how far away Dream is from him. “Football?” he asks, choking back a bit for some reason.

"Yeah," Dream relents, "supposed to help train some newbies on the field during break today.”

"A bunch of fucking children Dream,” corrects Sapnap, “Well whatever, just hurry up, we need to get to the field now. Coach Pat’s making us do reps today.” 

“Ok, chill,” Dream says, making kissy pouts at Sapnap, “let me just grab my things, and we’ll go.”

“You owe me one Dream!” Sapnap shouts before spinning to George, “Right, Dream has told me about you...Gogy?”

“No...” 

“Georgie?”

George shrugs.

“Georgette?”

_Ok, now that’s just straight out of the pocket._

“Geogeo?”

“Uh...George.”

“Just George?”

“Um, yes?” he replies. Was his name uncommon or something?

“Well then, nice to meet you, George, the name’s Nick but, once again, you can call me Sapnap,” Sapnap greets, a bit awkwardly but also goofy, “Has Dream told you about me?”

George nods. An unpleasant feeling bubbles up in him, and he can't quite put a name to it just yet. Dream has mentioned Sapnap numerous times during their rooftop conversations. They were childhood friends, after all. Always joined at the _hip_. "Aren’t you guys dating?” He cringes. That question came out way too bluntly. 

Sapnap erupts into howls, Dream who had also just returned from packing his bag, does the same, “ME? Dating SAPNAP? *wheeze* WHAT?!”

“Yeah! Dream _wishes_ he had a piece of this ass, but he’s basically my brother!”

“Wait, but I’m pretty sure someone mentioned that you two were together. Oh my god, this is so embarrassing,” George wails.

“Eww, no way, never. Besides, his ass already belongs to Karl.”

“Amen!!!” Sapnap cheers in agreement.

“Oh my god, let’s get going, Sapnap,” Dream calls, promptly pacing over to his bag, anything to get away from this conversation before Nick starts gushing about his boyfriend.

“Haha, like _always_ , it was nice meeting you, George,” Sapnap says, extending his hand out to George.

A gentle gust blows in between them, the ribbons of Sapnap’s bandana flurry fiercely in the wind. George swears he sees a flash of lightning somewhere but shakes it off when he doesn’t hear the thunder. “Nice meeting you too, Nick.”

Sapnap smiles at him. It's simple - but sympathetic. “Oh yeah,” he says, lowering his voice to a hush, “and don’t worry, Dream’s all yours.”

George blushes, babbling out in shock, “Wha- I don’t-”

“Sapnap!”

“Coming~!” Nick yells, catching up to Dream, who is holding the door open, giving George a suggestively encouraging wink before walking down the stairs. 

_Wha-what's that supposed to mean!?_

“See you tomorrow, Georgie!” yells Dream, waving excessively at him.

George bluntly scoffs, “Ugh, kill me now.”

“Bye, George!”

“Bye,” he utters, rolling his eyes and giving in to a small wave as the blonde slips out of his sight, leaving George alone with the echoes of the school bell's chime.

“Which reminds me,” George utters to no one in particular, moving over to their pots of bluebell bulbs, examining the soil to make sure it was wet enough. He smiles. 

Dream had been really eager to plant these:

_“Did you know that when a bluebell rings, it calls all the fairies to a gathering? Isn’t that cool, George?! And if you turn one of its flowers inside out without tearing it, you will eventually win the one you love!”_

He blushes at the memory. Clay didn’t seem like the type to be superstitious, so when he showed up to the roof one morning with boxes of bulbs and brand new gardening equipment, George was pleasantly surprised. He thought he had bored the younger with his gardening facts and tips, but Dream didn’t seem that way. 

“Grow up big and healthy soon, okay?” he giggles quietly, gazing at the clay pots in adoration, entertaining the silly idea of fairies gathering on their school’s roof. 

Not knowing that one day he’ll hear the bluebells ring too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **George's ~~Notes~~ Gardening Notes**   
>  **After leafing and flowering each year, don’t cut the bluebell’s foliage off. The leaves use sunlight to make food which strengthens the plant for the following year!**   
>  **1\. Plant dry bulbs at least 4” deep and space 4” apart; ensure the pointed growing tip is facing upwards.**   
>  **2\. Water bulbs well after planting.**


	3. Marigolds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **marigold  
>  /ˈmarɪɡəʊld/  
> noun  
> 1\. a plant of the daisy family with yellow, orange, or copper-brown flowers, cultivated as an ornamental.  
> 2\. positive emotions and energy.  
> 3\. grief.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: hospitals, discussion of terminal illness, mild anxiety attack

For once, George is alone on the roof for lunch. Dream, who would usually already be there before him, is out training for the upcoming season. Bored, George presses his cheek against the balcony’s cold bannister, looking out onto the football field. Amongst the sweat-worn faces, he sees Dream angrily chasing around a young blonde boy and failing. Miserably.

He giggles, looking away to give his friend's ego some pity. 

That must have been Tommy. He's heard Clay complain numerous times about the boy, usually along the lines of: _"What a child."_

Still, George knows otherwise. Though Clay is in no way as emotionally withdrawn as him, the blonde was only good at being honest with others around him when he was honest with himself. Dream can call Tommy a child all he wants, but deep down, he probably feels for him the same way an older brother does. 

And from what George sees, the red-shirted teen looks at Dream the same way a younger brother does: in admiration, and of course, in annoyance.

It reminds him of his own sister, how annoyed he would be when she dragged him to the shopping mall every other week. Or when he had to share the telly even though it was his time of the day. Or when she would sneak out his window in the middle of the night, waking him up from his sleep. 

She was lively, to say the least.

And like the child that he was, he would hate her for it, for never leaving him alone, for always giving him the excuse that it was because she was "older" than him. He would scream but end up in her arms, laughing when she swung him in circles off his feet. 

Yeah, lively didn't even begin to describe her.

Even after their parents died when George was just 13, she didn't leave him alone, and this time, he didn't scream about it - he couldn't. 

He felt like a burden to his sister. She was fresh out of college, looking forward to living in her prime, only to have to work long hours every day to pay the bills and feed him. It broke her, turned her into a stick-thin cigarette stick. Yet, she would still find time to walk him to school every week for four miserably long years; she stayed with him until she could no longer _breathe_ from all the cigarettes in between. They moved to America shortly after for her medical treatment, and George recalls a phone conversation he had with her in the morning:

 _"Hey, man!"_ his roommate, Alex, greeted him.

 _"Hey, Quackity,"_ he replied, taking a sip of his tea as he walked into the common room. He slumps on the bean bag across. 

It was a slow Monday morning. Frigid and bitter, it was days like these that reminded him of his home in England, when no amount of black tea could warm him. 

Quackity, on the other hand, was jumpy, like he had already taken his entire week's worth of crack all in one day. His friend was rambling, rapidly switching between English and Spanish, going on about askers and something about pandas.

 _I want whatever he's having_ , George joked to himself, his breath causing his hot tea to fog up his glasses. 

_"Pfft-"_ Quackity laughed, _"GOGY WITH NO BRIM!"_

George rolled his eyes, taking his glasses out to wipe them and put them away. He took out his contacts, but as he squinted to put them in, he noticed his roommate holding up a suspicious ziplock bag.

 _"DRUGS?!"_ he panicked, muttering a bunch of illegible cuss words when he dropped his glasses on the floor. He knew his roommate was into some shady shit- oh my god, he could already hear the FBI open up meme-

 _"Chill, George, chill, it's just rice,"_ Quackity exclaimed.

 _"Oh,"_ he collapsed in relief, _"You dropped your phone in the toilet, huh?"_

Quackity swayed between both his feet and peered his eyes at the ceiling, _"Well, actually, it's yours..."_

_"My?"_

_"Your...phone."_

_"QUACKITY!"_

Quackity held up his hands in defense, _"Look, man, your phone was ringing, and I was trying to answer it!"_

_"QUACKITY!"_

_"If it makes you feel any better, I flushed the toilet before I knocked it in..."_

_"Why did you have my phone in the first place?!"_

_"...Mine ran out of battery...,"_ Alex mumbled, his voice slightly squeaky. 

George grumbled. His roommate was obviously lying, and he was definitely wiping his history later. 

_"It seemed urgent, you know?"_ Quackity continues, _"I put it in the rice immediately, so it should be ok...I think?"_

_"Just hand me the bag, Quackity."_

_“Here,”_ Alex shrugged, handing George the ziplock, bowing his head down and making worshipping gestures as he shuffled out of the room.

George shook his head in exasperation. He pulled out his phone. Fortunately, the screen lights up, and he quickly enters the passcode. He rarely gave out his contact, so only a few people ever text him, let alone call him. Furthermore, the missed call went through silent mode. It was either his aunt, his sister - or the hospital.

George gulped, and God forbid if it was the hospital.

'Emma'

 _"Ha,"_ he sighs in relief, dialling the number back. It was his sister. 

_From the other side, a rough voice croaks, “Hello?”._

_“Hey, Emma...”_

_“George! Hey! How are you?”_

_“I’m fine as always, Ems,”_ George replied, glad that her voice, which was nearly gone when he last saw her the previous week, was somewhat back and lively like it used to be, _“are you doing well?”_

_“Same old, same old.”_

Silence ensued between the two. He heard his sister puff, but all she had was an imaginary cigarette. 

_"Treatment's been going well,"_ she continues with a dragged out tone, bored, she takes another breathy puff, _"the doctor says I might be able to go for the surgery soon."_

George tapped his feet. He already knew what his sister was going to say, but he asked it anyway. "And you're considering it?"

_"..."_

There it was. The silence. The pessimism. The distance.

_"I- look, George, even if it is successful, the complications, they are-"_

_"Emma,"_ he reprimanded, cutting her off. 

_"George...can't you see?! I want a new beginning just as much as you do!"_

_"But living is just a complication to you..."_ George uttered. He knew. It was only a matter of time until the hospital got to her, never made to rot in a cold, calculating room. It drained the liveliness out of her.

_"I want to, I really really do."_

His heart clenched. He hated this. He hated how their conversations were only ever about this.

_"George, I'm sorry."_

_"Don't be,"_ George maintains, _"You don't have to take the surgery."_

_"Georgie, please-"_

He hung up, and the beeping line and the way she calls him haunts him even now. 

George puffs, grasping Clay's lighter with his hands. It is his second cigarette stick of the day. He was used to the smell, and now he was used to the taste. 

It was overwhelming, but the smoke was nostalgic, warmer than tea.

He focuses back onto the field, eyes tracing for a certain blonde. He needed to see him, to see _Dream_ , but there is no sign of him, only Sapnap, who's with another boy, giving him a piggy-back ride. The boy, who he deduces is Tubbo, looks absolutely terrified. George mutters an apology to him.

 _"But living is just a complication to you..."_ George uttered. He knew. It was only a matter of time until the hospital got to her, never made to rot in a cold, calculating room. It drained the liveliness out of her.

His eyes continue to dart around, scanning, but still no sign of Dream-

Oh, wait.

"Georgie~!"

The roof door swings open. Dream football tackles him into a hug. George blushes, hastily hiding the cigarette in his pocket before looking back at him. He didn't tell Clay he started smoking. It made him feel guilty for it. It made him feel weak.

Dream smiles at him, and it burns into the back of his eyelids. 

"Dream- Hi," he titters, giving his best attempt of a smile back.

"I like your glasses," Clay giggles, playfully ruffling his hair, "What's the occasion?"

George sighs, elbowing him away. "Lost my contacts this morning. Long story."

"Mhm," the taller hums. Clay must have sensed his sour mood because a silence ensues. Comfortable and encouraging. 

George smiles again, genuinely, this time. He loves the way Clay comforts him, touches him, even if he doesn't admit it. "Let's get started, shall we, Dream?"

It's a fairly cool day. The sky is milky, sweeter than this mornings'. Perfect for planting, and today, they were planting marigolds. He recalls its meaning:

_Like the Sun, marigolds symbolise positive emotions and energy._

George opens his notes, "Ok, we need to sow the seeds at least 1 inch apart."

They put on their gloves and start digging at the soil, planting the seeds after a rough approximation.

"Mhm..." Clay continues to hum, and George lulls away to it as he spreads the soil thinly before watering it at its base.

_Marigolds are also the official flower for the Day of the Dead, believed to help guide the spirits to the afterlife with their vibrant colour._

He furrowed his eyebrows. There was nothing positive about it - about _dying_ , about never seeing the ones you love ever again, to watch them leave. 

George exhales slowly, going back to concentrating on his gardening, Clay still humming next to him.

But at least, the afterlife exists, and George hopes that will be enough for him.

───── ❃ ─────

Clay is racking his head for anything, anything to say to comfort him. He knows George is upset at something even though he tries to hide it under a vacant expression Dream can see his shoulders slouching. It breaks him, but he doesn't want to force George to say anything until he is ready, and he isn't obligated to be. Clay doesn't mind waiting for him, but still, he wants to try. He chooses his words carefully, wanting to cheer the older up, "Big D."

"W-what?" George asks stuttering from being caught off guard by Dream's sudden remark.

"Tommy called me Big D earlier."

George spurts out howling.

"Yeah, and when I told him off, he called me Lil D instead!" Dream bellows, maybe not his best idea, but hey, it still got George laughing.

"Pfft- Lil D, I'm glad Tommy decided to be more accurate!"

"Try saying that again, George," he snorts, narrowing his eyes to glare at the smaller, "I dare you."

George smirks, "As I said, I much prefer Lil D."

"Yeah, that's it, Georgie, open your mouth wider for me~" he scoffs, satisfied when George's zips his mouth instantly, his previously taunting face _tamed_ , going a strikingly brilliant red-

Dream turns away immediately when he feels the same shade of red creep up his neck quickly. Shit. Why was George so pretty?

He coughs lightly, going even redder when he realises how close George is to him. They're back to back, the smaller leaning in on his back. He hums, hoping to calm the weird tension in his body down and lets George slowly press his weight on him.

Eventually, he does somewhat calm down. His breathing stills with the other's back against his.

He looks over his shoulder, trying to keep his breaths in sync as he checks up on the boy behind him. Like an angel, George meets his eyes through fluttering eyelashes, the sun tinting his pale cheeks. Dream's breath hitches, falling behind the older's rising and sinking chest. He follows the hazelnut brown irises, stopping in a momentary downcasted daze at the pot of marigolds they just planted.

"A penny for Georgie's thoughts?" he gently prompts, shifting his shoulder's back onto the other's encouragingly. 

He hears George giggle at the ticklish movement, their breathing falling back in sync.

"It's my sister," George starts, finally ready to tell Clay his thoughts, "She got diagnosed with lung cancer last year and, it's been hard, moving to America for her treatment and leaving our home in Brighton. It was difficult, and I guess it still is."

He hums in response, letting his friend know to take his time in breathing.

"Funny story actually, this morning, my roommate Alex was carrying this bag of what I thought were drugs, but thankfully was just rice and-” George stops, taking a deep breath and reeling back, “...she called to tell me that she is now eligible for lung surgery."

"That's wonderful, George!"

"Yeah, it is..."

George. Clay feels his head droop into the crook of his neck. It's so warm, so strangely familiar, having his name repeating like a broken record in his head. "Is it too expensive? If so, I can always-"

"No, no, no, my parents- ...I'm sure they left us with more than enough money."

"Oh." The older's voice is tight with emotion, and Dream hears him inhale sharply.

"But she- she doesn't want to go for the surgery- and I, she's all I have left, I-" George cries and cries, choking even more when Dream wraps his arms around his slender body, his heart madly beating against his chest.

"I'm here with you, George," he softly whispers into the brunette's hair, rubbing small circles into his back, repeating it over and over again until he feels his breathing calm, returning in sync with his. "Why don't you call your sister and tell her how you feel?" George grins wearily into his chest, "Yeah, I will."

"Mhm," Clay continues to hum. It makes him dizzy with positive energy, having George tucked under his arms, confiding in him - a wonderful feeling; he never wants to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **George’s Gardening Tip Of The Day:**   
>  **Marigolds aren’t too picky about their soil but get some moderately fertile, well-drained soil and they’ll be big at full bloom!**   
>  **1\. Sow seeds 1” apart after all danger of frost has passed and the soil has begun to warm up.**   
>  **2\. Water at the base and allow the soil to dry between waterings.**


	4. Lavenders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lavender  
> /ˈlav(ə)ndə/  
> noun  
> 1\. a small aromatic evergreen shrub of the mint family, with narrow leaves and bluish-purple flowers, used in perfumery and medicine.  
> 2\. devotion.  
> 3\. peace.  
> 4\. distrust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: references to self-harm and underage drinking, feral george, karlnap third-wheeling

The seasons were changing. From the mischief of winters to the daybreak of spring, welcoming a mellow light. Students were out in the fields, playing their hearts out, living their dreams.

And speaking of dreams, Dream and George were on the roof, living their own. 

It was time to plant yet another flower. Lavenders, they decided, would be a good idea because of the warming soil.

_ “Lavender flowers are known to represent devotion and peace.” _

Dream listened attentively, despite the blur in his groggy head, he somehow always came back to George’s tender voice. 

_ “That being said, they are also used to promote sleep and fight insomnia.” _

_ Insomnia huh?  _ The moment that Dream remembered that the Brit had difficulties sleeping, the gears were already turning...

Clay was going to make him some lavender scented hand warmers, easy right?  _ How hard could it be... _

“So how did I end up third-wheeling you guys?!”

“Because you wanted Karl’s help,” Sapnap jested, “duh!”

“I invited Karl because he already sews for the drama club, not you!”

Turns out it was just the drunk talking because sewing needed _ nimble  _ hands, and Dream’s were all rough and calloused from football.

“Well Jacobs invited me,” Nick announces, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend’s shoulder, “right, baby?”

Karl, who looked like he wanted to object until now, gives in to a blush, mouthing apologies to Dream.

Dream shrugs, he pays no mind to it, cutting away at the felt and letting out a puff into the fine cold air. 

_ George has probably reached the hospital by now. _

The brunette was visiting his sister in the hospital today after Dream encouraged him to. 

“Hey Dream, who are you planning to give these hearts to anyways?” asks Sapnap. A lightbulb lights up, “You’re giving this to George aren’t you?!”

“LET’S GOOO I’M SO HAPPY FOR YOU GUYS!” congratulates Karl.

“No Karl, me and George are not dating.”

“Y-you’re not?” inquires Sapnap, seeming genuinely surprised.

“We’re just homies, can’t a homie give another homie a little gift?”

“Yeah but look at all these!” Sapnap screeches, ushering at the store of gardening equipment Dream bought for George, “Tell me this isn’t what a  _ sugar daddy _ would do! And the fact that we’re making heart shaped felt pouches?!”

“He doesn’t like me that way,” Dream bites the inside of his cheek, knotting the embroidery thread at the end, “and it’s heart shaped because the website we’re following is doing a heart too!”

“But what about you, Dream?”

“What about me?”

“Don’t you like him that way?”

Dream’s needle freezes like a deer in the headlights, he never really thought about it. Yes, George makes him feel different, but wasn’t it only because George was different? Amongst his field of flowers, George was like a lavender: giving Dream a sense of tranquility, one that he has longed for all his wasted life.

One that he _ had  _ longed for all his wasted life-

“I don’t know, how did you two know that you liked each other???” Dream blurts out.

Why couldn’t he just say ‘no’?

“Yeah sweetpea, how did you know you wanted to fuck me that way~”

Looks like changing the subject worked. Well maybe a little TOO well.

“Well um...I mean, ever since Sapnap first approached me, I thought he was cool and all, but then my heart started...leaping? I guess that's when I knew I liked him.”

“And then you wanted to fuck me right?”

“Wha-Nick!”

“Wait, Sapnap approached you first?” Dream reconvenes. Although it was true that Sapnap was the loudest amongst his friends, he would have never made the first move. Dream has known him for years and he has always been very awkward with his approaching feelings. So when Sapnap came telling Dream out of the blue about his new boyfriend, he was confused at the boy’s sudden change in attitude, dismissing it as a fling - a  _ fling  _ he has been third-wheeling for more than a year.

“Yes I did!” Sapnap snapped proudly, “Always!”

“Sap!”

Dream spirals away from the moment to give them some privacy, blocking his ears mentally as he fills the pocket with rice and the lavender seeds. The calming scent wafts under his nose, making him blink lightly. 

“Ok I’m done,” he proclaims, pulling the final thread through before standing up and slinging his bag over.

“I’ll send you the address,” Karl says, pulling out his phone.

“Yep,” Dream says, popping the ‘p’ and waving his friends goodbye.

Dream makes his way to George’s dorm which is surprisingly closer than he thought since George would often arrive later than him. But then again, George had a ridiculous sleeping schedule and Dream hopes that the lavender would at least grant him some good sleep.

‘Room 404’

He knocks on the door.

“One moment!” a voice calls out from inside the room. The door swings open. 

Alex, Dream recalls.

“Oh hey! You’re Dream right? Karl told me you were popping by.”

“Yeah,” Dream shrugs at the fact that Quackity is wearing sunglasses - indoors and hands him the gift, “Hand warmers for George.” 

Quackity arches his eyebrows at the heart shape, mumbling something along the lines of “gosh darn simps”. 

“Oh and just tell him to stick them in the microwave for 20-30 seconds to let it warm.”

Quackity lifts up an ‘ok’ sign, but just as he was about to retreat back into his room, he steps back out.

“Hey man, were you high?”

Dream wrinkles his forehead, “No, I’m not.”

“Yeah I know you’re not NOW, but I know a sober man when I see one, and you’ve definitely NOT been sober.”

“And what of it?” he snaps. It was none of his business.

“Chill! I can hook you up with some blue if you want,” Alex offers, his hand reaching into his pocket and pulling out some sort of transparent substance.

Dream had heard of this  _ ‘blue’  _ before, apparently they sucked all the sad feelings out of you and turned blue, hence the name.

As much as he had wanted to try it,  _ an easy way out _ , he also knew that it would show up on his drug test when universities checked his medical records. And he could already imagine the conversation he would have to have with his parents.

“I’m good.”

“Alright man, if you say so,” Quackity shrugs.

They say goodbye and Clay, deciding to skip the heat wave of a party, whistles down to a river.

He lays on the grass, the skinny blades carve into his skin, adding crescent moons to his galaxy. The setting sun twirls across the water, melting into glistens of gold. He closes his eyes instinctively, expecting to be hit with a resentful burn at the back of his throat. Instead, he is intoxicated by a different kind of smell rubbing off his hands -  _ lavender _ . The calm fragrance lulls him to the edge of falling asleep, once again, bringing him back to George.

And George was worth so much more.

───── ❃ ─────

“Hey Clay, late practice?” 

His mom greets him, she cradles his little sister in her arms, rocking her gently from side to side to side.

“Yep,” he says, without batting an eye.

“Mhm...alright sweetie,” she says, her voice dripping with honey, “can’t wait to see you score a touchdown in the game next month!”

Clay smiles back at his mother, fighting the urge to shiver at the corners folding on her face.

_ But hey, at least his parents never nagged him about his grades.  _

He throws his bag onto the bad, the empty bottles in his bag clamouring. Dream cringes, making a mental note to himself to remove the shards of glass later.

*buzz*

**Unknown Number**

Hey Dream, just texting to thank you for the hand warmers!

_ George. _

Dream drags his hand down his face, digging his pinky in the upturn of his lips. 

**Contact name changed to** ~~ **Georgie**~~ ~~**George**~~ **Georgie**

**Dream**

No problem Georgie <3 

How did you get my number by the way?

**Georgie**

You gave it to me? In the box?

Dream groans,  _ Sapnap. _

**Dream**

Right

Anyways, how was your visit?

Dots. Dots. Dots. Was Dream too blunt? He was one of those people who were really bad at holding a conversation online as opposed to in real life. George, on the other hand, was quite the opposite... 

**Georgie**

It was great✨

She decided to go for the surgery 🥰

He snorts at the boy’s...expressive emojis. George was bold, _ twisting  _ Clay’s stomach as he pleases. 

**Georgie**

Hey wanna call?

Dream’s hands type faster than his heart.

**Dream**

Sure!

**Incoming Call: Georgie**

“Hey Dream, thanks again for your gift!”

“Umm...no problem Gogy, haha sorry, I’m really awkward when I text.”

“Oh my god, I thought I was tripping,” George giggles, “If it makes you feel any better, my sister also says I’m weird when I text.”

“Yeah no, you’re on a whole other level of weird. So when’s your sister’s surgery?”

Despite his sluggish voice, George’s excitement _ buzzes _ through the phone, “Doctors say she’ll probably be out by spring,” 

“That’s great George! I’m so happy for you.”

“I-I- thanks Dream...I’m really happy for me too~”

Dream blinks, taking a while to register George’s inviting tone, “How’s the hand warmers working out for you?”

“Urgh~, I’m using them right now actually...” 

His lip bleeds at the attractive  _ noise _ George makes. Sure he was used to it but the thought of the hand warmers he  _ made  _ for George, warming his hands and making them red, rushes the blood to his head.

“...they’re  _ really _ really warm,” George comments, yawning halfway through it.

“I’m glad,” Dream gulps, the metallic taste dancing on the tip of his tongue, “that means the lavender is working.”

“Oh from yesterday? No wonder it smells so nice,” George remarks, honouring it with another yawn.

Dream chuckles, “Looks like it’s bedtime for Georgie-wogy!”

“No! Stay!” 

Dream was right, George had been really sleep deprived and was acting no different from a drunk, much more feral than his usual distant attitude. It makes Dream feel special, knowing that the usually reserved George has most likely never shown this side of him to anyone else and so Clay indulges him, “Alright, I’ll talk to you until you fall asleep Georgie, how about that~”

As per the older’s request, he continues to talk, going on about football and his earlier meeting with Sapnap and Karl.

“Hehe...it’s like you’re right next to me, Dream~” he hears George faintly say.

“WHAT!?” Dream yelps, retracting his voice after realising how loud it was, not wanting to break the other boy’s sleepy daze, “What!?”

George snickers, faintly fading further into exhaustion.

‘You’re such an idiot,” Dream utters under his breath.

“Goodnight Dream~”

“...Goodnight George.”

But the call doesn’t end.  _ George must have fallen asleep. _ Dream smiles to himself and is about to hang up when...

“I love you.”

Dream quickly shuts his mouth, realising what just came out of it, hastily clicking the ‘end call’ button when he hears the brunette still snoozing, blissfully unaware of Dream’s internal screaming.

_ Most flowers could have several, sometimes contradictory meanings. _

_ “Don’t you like him that way?” _

Dream lied.

_ The lavender, for example, means devotion and peace, but it could also mean- _

It wasn’t that he couldn’t say ‘no’. He didn’t want to say ‘no’.

_ Distrust. _

He lied, not only to his friends, but also to himself, because deep down, he knew the truth and he was sleeping on it.

George deserved so much more.

And he continues to lie all the way down, slipping past the back door and into the night. Even in the morning, when he wakes up with a bottle in hand and another person’s body imprinted onto him, the musty scent still lingers in his mind.

Because for as long as a sleeping man can’t hear lies - Clay could continue to say:

_ I like you. I like you. I like you. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~George’s~~ Dream’s Gardening Tip Of The Day :)  
> Lavenders tend to die off randomly in acidic conditions, so check your soil’s pH!  
> 1\. Sow seeds on the surface of moist seed compost.   
> 2\. Cover seeds with compost.  
> 3\. Seal it inside a clear polythene bag until germination.   
> 4\. Then transplant them in a container with large drainage holes in poor, dry or moderately fertile soil.  
> 5\. Water thoroughly.


	5. Begonias

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> begonia  
> /bɪˈɡəʊnɪə/  
> noun  
> 1\. a herbaceous plant of warm climates, the flowers of which have brightly coloured sepals but no petals. Numerous cultivars are grown for their flowers or striking foliage.  
> 2\. gratitude.  
> 3\. respect.  
> 4\. caution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: none

_ The begonia is a symbol of caution, a sign of warning about future misfortunes or new situations. _

And it’s all Dream sees: red - like begonias.

“Hey Dream, do you mind if one of my friends drops by the roof tomorrow?”

“Oh, you mean Quackity~?” 

George shakes his head vigorously, “Hell no! He’d probably feed something weird to the plants.” 

“I second that,” he shrugs, “So who’s your friend, Georgie~?”

Dream doesn’t miss the blush streaking across George’s face.

“I-I’m talking about Wilbur.”

“Wilbur?” 

“Yeah you know. THE Wilbur.”

Dream selfishly tunes out:

_ Wilbur. Wilbur. Wilbur. _

The light strum of a guitar comes to mind, he’s heard those notes before. Wilbur Soot, the charming ace of the music department and the Head Teacher’s eldest son, is often seen wandering campus, playing a melody or two. But as far as he was concerned, Wilbur stayed in the vicinity of the music block most of the time, miles away from the computer science classrooms. So how did George know him?

“..your...and so I invited him...”

“You- invited him?”

“Yes Dream, I invited him,” George pauses, “were you listening to anything I said?”

Clay furrows his eyebrows at the accusation, “Of course I was, and yeah sure, Wilbur can drop by tomorrow.” 

George beams in delight. 

Dream holds his breath behind metal bars, restraining the twisting monster, as it claws at him from the inside out, he wants to wipe that stupid smile of his face. That smile that wasn’t directed at  _ him _ .

_ The begonia is a symbol of caution - a sign of warning. _

And Dream’s feelings were warning him.

A clock spins in his mind, but all Dream can do is resign to his own prison until the damned trial date arrives. 

And it arrives, sooner than Dream would have liked. He was like a man on death row, tending to his blooming begonias on the roof. They were the first batch of flowers to bloom. It had been a momentous day, one that he didn’t let George live down. He was proud of them, an emanation of his own endeavours. But now, the scarlet mocks him as if saying:

_ You’ll never have him. _

“So anyways you have to transplant the tubers 6 to 8 inches apart and hollow side up...” instructs George, mixing the soil in Wilbur’s pot.

“Wow Gogy, you’re actually really good at this!”

Dream clenches his teeth.  _ Could they be any closer?  _ Their elbows were practically rubbing! He grumbles, there was no room for him to cut him.

It is petty, he admits, but all he sees is red.

Clay swallows, dragging his feet to the  _ red  _ exit.

“Hey Dream, where are you going?” asks George, halting him to a stop.

“Toilet,” Dream seethes through his teeth, brashly closing the door behind him and keeping his eyes down all the way to the bathroom. He perches his hands on the sink, gripping his nails into the porcelain. The agitation is  _ nauseating _ . 

_ I don’t suit the colour red,  _ he thinks, looking in the mirror and stroking circles under his sunken vessels. 

_ George would think the same too if he wasn’t colourblind. _

Would he look away from him? Scorn him for thinking that way towards him? No, George wouldn’t do that, but he would most definitely never look at him the same way again.

He sighs, walking back with a pang of guilt tugging at his heartstrings. Dream eyes his bag in the corner.

_ I need to get out of here. _

The flasks were becoming more and more enticing - and he’d rather not stay.

“You were right George, they are really pretty.”

“Yeah, I think they’re really pretty too.”

...

“Don’t tell Dream I said that though, he has too fat an ego already.”

Clay swings his head back, George and Wilbur are hunched over a pot of begonias -  _ his _ begonias.

“...You reckon Niki will like them?” asks the guitarist.

_ Niki?  _

“Oh, she’ll absolutely love it.”

“Thanks Gogy,” Wilbur muses.

_ Who’s Niki? And why’s Wilbur getting flowers for her?? I thought- George- he- _

“I’ll get your pot for you!”

Wilbur nods and swivels towards their bags.

_ Shit. _

“Oh Dream, you’re back.”

“Yeah Wilbur,” Dream spits, “I am back-”

Clay doubles back when he notices the rusted bars, venom still lacing his tongue, “Sorry...”

“Hey man, I hope you didn’t misunderstand anything. Me and George are just friends.”

“W-what do you mean? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Dream, you’ve been throwing glares at the back of my head all afternoon.”

He blushes in embarrassment.

“No sweat Dream, I just needed George’s help to pick something out for my friend,” Wilbur breaks out into a half-surpressed laugh, “If it’s any consolation, I am gay, but only gay for the egg.”

Dream doesn’t even know where to begin registering what Wilbur just said.  _ Was I really that obvious? Did George notice? And who the fuck is ‘the egg’? _

“Hey Dream’s back!” George chirps, handing the pot over to Wilbur.

“Thanks again Gog- George,” Wilbur concedes, snickering at Clay’s dangerously frantic switch in expression as he bows goodbye, leaving only the duo once again. 

Dream tries to decipher the tension, the charged sensation tingling his skin. He restlessly sways his weight between both his feet.

“What are you doing...” George starts, slicing the paper-thin friction between them, “step-Dream~?”

“...What? WHAT?? WHHAATTT?”

George giggles innocently at the older, whose eyes were still widening in shock. 

“GEORGE!”

“DREAM!”

Clay rests his elbows on his parted knees in defeat, the monster was no match for the way George looked at him - for the way George  _ meant _ to him. 

He laughs at the way he wallowed in self-pity. He was never the beast, he was its captive and the key was in his the whole time.

“I’m glad you’re in a better mood, Dream,” George comments, giving his friend a pat on the shoulder.

“Yeah,” Dream rubs his neck nervously, “I was just worried about next week’s game.”

“I’m sure you’ll do fine Clay,” he reassures, gifting Dream with one of his bright grins, “Which reminds me!”

George runs to the back of the roof, “My begonias actually bloomed a couple days ago, so I decided to pick some out,” he hands Dream a mason jar of begonias, “A symbol of gratitude and respect.”

“Right...thank you George,” Dream smiles at the older. The once prisoner becoming a free man. A changed man.

Clay digs in his pocket, pulling out a thin white sheet, “...will you be there?”

George studies at the paper, a ticket to the football match. He looks up at Clay, “Y-yeah, I will.”

Red flashes past Dream’s eyes again. Not in anger. Not in jealousy. But in gratitude.

He has never felt so  _ full _ with emotions. They are overwhelming, filling to the brim for the boy in front of him and threatening to overflow - and it overflows without warning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dream’s Gardening Tip Of The Day...<3  
> When growing in pots, the begonias can either be planted after starting off indoors or taken outside once frosts have passed!  
> 1\. Plant the transplants 6-8” apart and others according to their mature size.  
> 2\. Tubers can be started indoors by placing the tubers, hollow side up, 1” apart in a shallow tray with moist potting mix.  
> 3\. Place the tray in a dark room and water just enough to keep the potting mix moist, but not soggy.


	6. Coreopses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> coreopsis  
> /ˌkɒrɪˈɒpsɪs/  
> noun  
> 1\. a plant of the daisy family, which is cultivated for its rayed, typically yellow, flowers.  
> 2\. always cheerful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: i'm not american, i can't american football

The dinner crowd moves down the line - uniform like soldiers. They cling onto their trays and curtly clang their cutlery against their plastic plates. At the end of the trench, a feast of flavours and a goulash of scents await the hungry men before they are sent back out to no-man’s-land. George is on the lookout, many seats are already taken but he doesn’t withdraw until finally, a vacant spot! He charges, infiltrating the field and sieging it; making it a decisive victory for George-

“Oh hey George!”

_What now?!_

A chair pulls out from in front of him in one fell swoop, effortlessly occupying the outpost and to his relief, it is an ally.

He smiles, “Hey Karl!” 

They pick up their weapons and begin hacking away at their supplies.

“You going to the game later?” 

“Mhm, got a ticket from Clay.” 

“The front row ones?” Karl asks, his fork piquing in interest.

George gives a blank look, “There’s a difference?” 

Karl nods, “Usually the football members get special tickets in case they want to invite their family or something and if Dream gave you his ticket, that means his family’s not coming.”

Apparently, the front row seats were the best of the best, close to the 50 yard line and roughly between rows 10 and 20. It had the clearest view and it was easy to get a sense of formations and tactics. Not that George knew how the game worked (not tom gravy trending on twitter when i’m editing this i-).

“Ugh, now I kinda feel bad...” George laments.

“Don’t be,” Karl shrugs, “Honestly - good for him.”

 _Does Dream not have a good relationship with his parents?_

It was no secret that his parents had high expectations for him. He knew Dream had a bit of a drinking problem, no matter how many times he had tried to hide those bottles, the distinct scent of alcohol would always come off from him. Not to mention those red and purple marks, some old, some fresh that would appear on his neck ever so often. Dream always said they were mosquito bites, but...George knew otherwise and it would always lead to him having sleepless nights, knowing that Dream was probably awake too, pushing his body against somebody _else_ and wrapping them in his arms. 

It hurt him.

He could never bring himself to confront his own feelings, let alone his _best friend_ , so he would always let it slide. 

_Slide_ , he thinks, probing at his pizza slice with a knife.

George turns on his phone:

‘6.00am’

Almost an hour away from the game. 

_“Try not to keep your eyes on me the whole time Georgie~”_

George scoffs, bouncing his leg at the edge of his seat - _as if_.

“Woah, what do we have here???” 

Karl points at George’s home screen. 

“Coreopses,” he recalls, “they bloomed the other day.”

The background is a basin of flowers; bristled and brilliant red at the centre, blending to a peachy orange and a sunshine yellow at its pointed edge. Behind the blossoms, there is a wide and gleaming grin from cheek to cheek. Dream holds a silly pose, his weight bent down on one knee and his hands touching the grass (*cough cough*). 

_Coreopsis, cheerful like always._

“Looks like they weren’t the only things that were blooming that day,” Karl hints, snickering at George’s flustered expression. “We should get going soon, I’ve got to help the cheerleaders with wardrobe.”

George nods, getting up to put his tray away when suddenly, his phone starts ringing restlessly in his pocket. His eyebrows furrow.

“...Go on ahead Karl, I’ve- got to take this one.”

“Mhm, I’ll see you there then?”

He waves Karl away, “...Yeah, I’ll see you there.” 

A sinking feeling washes over him when he sees the contact, crashing onto his hands and numbing them. He places the dreaded call against his ear.

“Hello?”

**───── ❃ ─────**

In the locker room, a pipe bomb of excitement and nervousness ticks. Dream is seated on the bench, stretching his clean white sock up his ankle with a snap. It was going to be George’s first game, so Dream was putting in a _little_ more effort to dress up. Not only were his socks fresh out of the laundry, so was his jersey. His helmet was polished with a brand new smiley-face sharpied on it.

“Hey Dream!” Karl walks in, giving Dream a nudge, “You look ready, what’s with the lack of sweaty armpits?”

“Just thought I might as well clean myself up for the first game of the season.”

“Mhm...” Karl murmurs, definitely unconvinced.

“Can you just- help me apply the eye black?”

“Sure!” he exclaims, popping off the cap and running the stick outside Dream’s cheekbone. Having done makeup for the girls, Karl had steady hands, compared to Dream who would always apply more black than he would have liked and he needed to look less like an emo teen.

“Have you seen Nick?”

Dream shakes his head, “No, but all of his shit is just lying around here, so I assume he’s coming back soon.”

Like a whirlwind, Sapnap never stayed in one place for long, often leaving a heap of debris behind. It was nothing that the football team wasn’t used to, but a little hurricane warning would’ve been nice. 

“Are those his too?”, Karl asks, pointing to the landfill in the corner of the room.

“Yea it should be, been there all week.” Dream shakes his head in exasperation.

Karl treks over, shuffling through the mess, it was a deck of cards. “Dude, why would he need these many cards?”

Dream scratches his cheek, “What do they say?”

He fans them out. It was a deck of reading cards, ranging from happy birthdays and best wishes to more obscure ones like:

‘I’ll always be daddy’s little girl!’; ‘Hey Mamas’ and-

“I’M PREGNANT?!” reads Dream, his laugh wheezy from hyper-ventilating, “WHAT THE FUCK KARL?!””

“What the honk! Don’t look at me!” Karl babbles with both his hands on his head when suddenly...

“Sweetpea!” 

Sapnap runs up to Karl, throwing him into a hug, his heavy gear making Karl stumble back a little.

“Sapnap, you’ve got some explaining to do,” Dream smirks, holding up the card and flapping it in Sapnap’s face.

He follows the words with his eyes, his mouth gradually parting into an ‘o’-shape, “Oh hey, I completely forgot about these! Got my hands on a 48-pack the other day from that super shady law student, Quackity or something?”

“Bro, how much money was it???” 

Sapnap shrugs at his boyfriend, nervously picking at his fingernails, “Let’s just say it was discounted...”

Dream copies that. Sapnap must have also fallen for one of Quackity’s elusive ‘drug schemes’ and it definitely did not involve regular paper currency which Dream had to learn the hard way (but that’s a story for another day). 

“Hey Karl, where’s George by the way? I thought the both of you were supposed to come together?”

“Oh, he had to take a phone call but he said he’ll meet me in the stands later.”

Dream nods, feeling a bit worried for the brunette but reassured nonetheless. It must have been urgent, he thinks, stepping out onto the field. In the stands, the crowd is already roaring, pumping their feet on the ground. He takes his position on the turf, bending down and grinding his weight on the ground. His pupils widen from the sheer adrenaline coursing through his veins overtaking his earlier fidgeting. The first half of the game goes smoothly with their team blitzing through with many successful passes, speedrunning points like: *dudududu*

“Great job Captain!” his teammate, Zak, salutes him. 

Dream salutes back and gives his team an encouragingly cheerful grin. 

“Still no Gogy?” Sapnap asks, his voice strained from chugging water too fast.

“No...” Dream replies, he had glimpsed at the stands several times for the Brit throughout the match, which only made him more and more crestfallen each time. He knows it must have been important, but he was also really looking forward to George’s first time watching a game.

_His game._

“Second-half in five!” their coach yells.

“Ok guys bring it in,” Dream calls, summoning his teammates into a huddle, “Three! Two! One-”

“THESE ORPHANS ARE GETTING DESTROYED!!!”

Everybody bursts into howls, fervidly chanting “ORPHANS!” as they move back out. Not what Dream had planned for but hey, if it works - it works. 

The second half is a bit more challenging than the first half, many of them having been exhausted of energy and Dream wasn’t having much luck either. His ankle had started throbbing in pain, almost making him crash-first into an opposing player. He needs to get his head back into the game, but instead his glances at the hollering audience become more and more excessive.

_Hoping. Hoping. Hoping-_

“DREAM!” 

Clay hears Sapnap’s yell a fraction too late, only registering the incoming impact when it batters his brain. Dream collapses astro, his arm holding him up out of pure willpower. He scowls, the splitting pain shoots up his leg. Everything becomes a smudge in the canvas. A mistake. The ringing screeches against his skull. His eyes rapidly switch between muddled palettes, from a white to grey and back to white again before bleeding out in ink.

He screams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> George’s Gardening ~~Tip?~~ Fact Of The Day!  
> Coreopsis plants can often reach from six inches to four feet in height with a spread of about 12 to 24 inches!!!  
> 1\. Prepare the bed by turning the soil under to a depth of 6-12” removing any debris, and lightly raking as level as possible.  
> 2\. Place the top of the root ball even with the level of the surrounding soil. Fill with soil to the top of the root ball and press down firmly with your hand.  
> 3\. Thoroughly water and apply a light mulch layer on top of the soil to conserve water and reduce weeds.


	7. Basil Leaves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> basil  
> /ˈbaz(ə)l/  
> noun  
> 1\. an aromatic plant of the mint family, native to tropical Asia. the leaves are used as a culinary herb, especially in Mediterranean dishes.  
> 2\. good wishes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: parents, haven’t been to a hospital in a long time, can’t hospital  
> ps: new format, all previous chapters have been updated

Dream slouches in his hospital bed, rubbing his eyes as little particles of dust floated around in the sunlight. There is a metallic tang from stainless steel in the open air. It is quiet, with only the sound of droplets coming from the IV bag above him. He grunts, there were needles under his skin. He tries to sit up, but the stiffness of his leg from the thick bandages makes him fall right back down onto the mattress. 

There is no way he is going to play the season. 

_Fuck._

A million excuses run through his mind:

_I was sick! I didn’t know the other player was aiming for me! It was a foul!_

But only one stayed:

_I got distracted because the boy I like was going to show up for my game - was supposed to show up for my game._

He checks his phone, there are several messages from his friends, his parents and _George._

Dream knows he should check his parents’ messages first but it's not like they were dying anytime soon or anything.

**Georgie <3**

Hey Dream

Sorry I’m going to be late

My sister had a relapse

Dream furrows his brow in concern, scrolling to check the later messages. 

**Georgie <3**

The doctors say she should be fine now

If you’re seeing this during half-time

Don’t get TOO cocky 

Pop off 🤪

I’ll probably make it towards the end :)

He scoffs, _I’m not THAT cocky._

Dream wonders if George ended up making it, only to see him being wheeled off by an ambulance. Well, he did say he wanted to give George the full American football experience and what’s American football without a broken leg and a concussion?

“Ha,” he hopefully didn’t turn George off from showing up to another game, even though he would probably never get to see Dream play until next year when he has already graduated.

They were almost midway through the year and Dream still feels like he met George just yesterday:

_“Damn it.”_

The door had swung open, waking Dream from his sleep. He didn’t think anybody would come up to the roof because classes were still going on, but it looked like they hadn’t noticed him yet, so he stayed quiet, hoping that they would leave sooner or later.

Dream peeped from behind the door. It was a boy, leaning against the railing. He wore a light blue sweater that accentuated his thin waist and had the fluffiest dark cocoa hair Dream had ever seen. It shined golden in the sun. He was pulled out of his starstruck state when the boy pulled out a cigarette box from his pocket.

He sighed, the boy was skipping class just for a smoke. Not that Dream could judge, especially with the bottles beside him.

_“Damn it,” he heard the boy curse, having not brought a lighter with him._

_Good, he’ll leave soon,_ he thought, pulling his hoodie over, but something came over him. Guilt. He's already made one mistake too many and maybe, just maybe, this could be-

_“Need a light?”_

Dream laughs, the lighter wasn’t even his, probably that girl’s he picked up the day before. Oh how much he would have hated himself if he hadn’t got to see the Brit’s dramatic expression when he tried a cigarette for the first time or his slightly gaping mouth when he knew who he was.

He loves George.

There is a knock on the hospital door. It slides open. Dream knew that it was about time, but their voices still _scared_ him.

“Oh Clay, sweetie you’re awake!”

Dream winces a smile, “Hi mom.”

She gives him a hug and it takes all of his strength to not stiffen up at her frigid touch. 

“Clay.”

Dream’s neck pivots to his father, he was definitely not happy. His forehead is knitted together and his thin lips are pursed like a vault.

“Why didn’t you give us the tickets to your game?”

Clay gulped, he couldn’t tell his parents about George.

“And why did you tell us it was next week and not YESTERDAY?”

That one he thought of.

“I forgot.”

_Nice going there Dream._

“Don’t give me that excuse young man, the scholarships! Do you know how much we could lose from this?!”

He considers shouting at his parents, _You mean how much YOU could lose from this right?!,_ but reels back when he sees his younger sister was in the room, drowsily clinging on to his mother’s leg.

Dream sighs, “I- I’m sorry.”

“WHO DID YOU GIVE YOUR TICKET TO.” 

“Wh- what?!”

“We know you gave your ticket to someone, the school’s admin says your ticket was used, so WHO DID YOU GIVE YOUR TICKET TO?!” his father booms, knocking Clay out of excuses.

He flinches, “I- I gave it to my friend!”

His father is practically boiling now, his face red like a tomato.

“And who is this _friend_ of yours?”

They glare at him and Dream glares right back, standing his ground. 

_George made it to the game,_ and he could NOT tell them about George. Anything but him, it took so long for them to accept Nick into their home as a _friend_ , but George, if they ever found out the feelings their own _son_ held, for a _boy_ \- forget seeing the light of day- 

Dream would never be able to see _George_ again. 

The silence continues to hang in the air. Dream grips his sheets, preparing to shield himself for the worst.

“That would be my son.”

Their heads snap towards the voice. Dream hadn’t realised but their Head Teacher, Mr. Philza, was also in the room, standing behind his giants.

He clears his throat, “My eldest son, Wilbur lost his ticket so Clay offered his ticket to him.”

“Is that so?” his father chuckles, almost making Clay throw up right then and there, “As expected of my son, how incredibly kind of him!”

Mr. Philza nods, giving Clay a reassuring smile, “Now if I may, I would like to discuss with Clay about the season.”

His tone is kind, but firm, signalling to his parents that they should leave. 

Clay expects his father to object or let out a protest but he doesn’t. Instead, they back out of the room, only sliding the door a little too loud of the way out.

Dream laughs, the tension lifting off his shoulders. 

“Sorry I didn’t step in sooner,” the Head Teacher says to him.

He accepts his handshake, “No worries, Mr. Philza, thanks for helping me out there.”

“I’ll make this quick Dream, as far as the board is concerned, you will not be able to play the season. However, you are still eligible for a sports scholarship.”

Dream breathes out a heavy sigh of relief.

“But-”

“There’s a but?!”

“But,” Mr. Philza continues, “seeing as your studies are...minimal, you’ll need to invest in other extracurriculars to boost yourself up.”

“Extracurriculars?”

“Are there any clubs that interest you at the moment?”

 _Clubs?_ His mind spins, well there was the drama club, the music club, the _anime_ club but Dream couldn’t do _any_ of them for the life of him.

“Well, keep it in mind Dream. Rest up and don’t worry your team won,” Mr. Philza says, “‘courtesy of Technoblade’ as my son, David, asked me to mention.”

He smiles a little irked but mostly proud, waving to Mr. Philza as he leaves.

Dream had a lot to sleep on.

**───── ❃ ─────**

_Basil._

Dream wakes up to the smell of sweet basil.

He rolls to his side, through half-lidded eyelids he sees George is sitting on the chair next to the hospital bed, arranging a small pot of basil on the windowsill. The afternoon sunlight shines softly on his milky white collarbone, forming defined lines on his jaw. And his eyes. His eyes are _beautiful._

And he's falling into them, again and again, and again.

“I must still be dreaming,” Dream mumbles, slipping back under the covers and closing his eyes back.

“Oi Dream, are you seriously going back to sleep after saying that?!”

This time his eyes fly wide open. 

“George!?”

He rolls his eyes, “Heard you got injured, brought a little get well soon gift.” He hands Dream the pot of basil and a card that says:

‘Sorry you feel like 💩, get better soon!”

George shrugs, “The card’s from Sap.”

Dream traces the curved leaves, taking the fresh scent in through his nose.

“During the Victorian era, sweet basil was used to convey good wishes so I thought it was fitting.”

He smirks, “And in Italy, a man who has accepted basil from a woman is _destined_ to marry her~”

“Y-you’re such an idiot,” George stifles a grin, “How bad is it?”

Dream sighs, “I won’t be able to play the season. Mr. Philza says I’ll need to pick up my studies and join a club. But I have no idea which one.”

“How about we reinstate the gardening club?” George declares after a while.

“And how exactly are we going to do that?”

“Dream! We’ve _been_ gardening the whole time, we just need a couple of friends to drop by and we basically have a club.”

“That’s...actually quite a good plan,” he murmurs, a bit disheartened at the idea of having others _intrude_ on his time with George. But he knows that it’s for the best, the Brit was just starting to come out of his comfort zone and Dream knew how much George _bloomed_ when it came to his friends.

“Alright, I’ll let Mr. Philza know,” he says, getting up to leave the room.

“Wait!”

In the spur of the moment, he grasps George’s hand.

“Dream?”

“I- I want a little kiss,” Clay whines, pointing to his head, “Y-you missed my game!” 

Seriously, what was with him and coming up with stupid excuses all day?

_I must be losing my mind._

He stops in his tracks. For a moment, Dream wonders whether this was it, that George would pull away and look at Clay in disgust. 

But he doesn’t loosen his wrist from Dream’s hold.

_George?_

George plants a quick and chaste kiss on his forehead.

“I- I’ll be there for the next one,” he stutters and Dream’s stomach flutters at the sight of George’s ears flushing a bright pink as he leaves the room.

A tint of brilliant red strikes Dream’s cheeks.

_Good wishes indeed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> George’s Gardening Tip Of The Day :)  
> 1\. Basil grows best with at least 6 to 8 hours of sunlight each day!  
> 2\. Plant seeds/seedlings about 1/4” deep and 10-12” apart. They should grow to about 12-24” in height.  
> 3\. Water thoroughly.  
> 4\. Mulch to retain moisture after the soil has warmed.


	8. Morning Glories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> morning glory  
> /ˈmɔːnɪŋ/ˈɡlɔːri/  
> noun  
> 1\. a climbing plant of the convolvulus family, sometimes cultivated for its trumpet-shaped flowers.  
> 2\. affection.  
> 3\. mortality of life.  
> 4\. love in vain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: some mature references (like sex and drinking)

The day dawned crisp and clear with smudged clouds across the canvas. A flurry of birds chirp - signalling the beginning of spring. It is the gardening club’s first day in session and its President, George (Dream’s the Vice President) is on the roof, bubbling with excitement as he lays out a row of tools and pots. 

“Hey George!” Wilbur walks in first, next to him there is a blond girl with cat-like eyes and another girl with dark, striking cherry big ones - like day and night.

George smiles, “Welcome to the gardening club!”

“Nice to meet you George, my name’s Niki and this is Minx,” the sunny girl greets, arms wrapped around her friend, who gives him an ominous glare like a crow.

He shivers, “We’ll wait a bit for Karl and Sapnap before we start.”

In the meanwhile, he shows them around their mini garden. It is enchanting, a golden glow washing over the sugar-frosted grass. George’s chest swells up in pride. Flowers of every colour are blooming, bursting from the earth. Pollen adorn their crowns like grains of pixie dust - and the daffodils that started it all, sways with the other stalks in delight.

“Wow, you and Dream did all this?” Niki exclaims.

George rubs his neck, twinkling proudly, “Yeah- yeah we did.”

“What the hell George, we helped out too!” Sapnap interjects, _strutting_ to George’s side. 

“Well actually no, they did, you annoyed them and I babysitted you,” Karl corrected.

Nick pouts, “Sweetpea!” 

They all burst out in laughter.

“Gogy?! Are we popping off Gogy?!” shouts Wilbur.

“WE’RE POPPING OFF!”

Everyone cheers in agreement. 

Today, they are planting morning glories.

“I had a morning glory this morning!” Sapnap brags, holding Karl’s hand up, who turns away in embarrassment.

“Sapnap, what the fuck,” Wilbur expresses, repulsed.

“Hey George.” 

“Yes Minx?”

“Will we be able to _cut_ some off after we’ve grown them?” Minx says, holding up a pair of scissors at Sapnap menacingly, earning a shy laugh from Niki.

Sapnap scuttles away in a flash.

“A symbol of _affection,_ ” George emphasises, snickering through his teeth, “the morning glory is a twisting vine that will tenaciously latch onto anything vertical.” He points to the pots by the fence of the balcony. They sit down, cross legged and listening attentively. Before them was a tray of tiny dark brown seeds. 

“I’ve already soaked them for 24 hours, so we just need to space the seeds about 6 inches apart and cover lightly with a quarter inch of soil.”

They nod, following George who digs through the soil smoothly, so as to make sure it doesn’t overflow. He had come a long way from when he and Dream first started, when they were constantly covered in dirt and now he was teaching others how to do it too, though they had less luck in the mess department.

“What the hell Minx!” Sapnap shouts, his white t-shirt streaked in mud from Minx’s trowel. 

Minx just shrugs unapologetically and gives him the middle finger.

George copies, acquiring a “fuck you” from Sapnap.

Everyone echoes the laughter.

He wishes Dream was here instead of resting in the hospital, to plant his own morning glory, to make stupid inappropriate quips, to wheeze until his lungs gave way when he looked at him in disgust, to drop his jaw in shock when George jokingly flirts back. 

He wishes Dream could see him step out of his comfort zone, meet new people and make friends, a far cry from when they first met.

He wishes _Clay_ was here.

George shakes the thoughts out of his head and returns to watering the morning glories, eyeing Wilbur’s pot every so often to make sure he didn’t flood it. 

“Seedling should appear in about a week,” estimates George, helping to clean up the other’s tools.

They agree to meet at least once a week without a set day, keeping it open as more of a communal area where anyone can come and go as they please. Of course, this only alluded to times when classes weren’t going on, meaning him and Clay will still be left alone _together_ for the most part.

George smiles. The sun drops into a riveting colour blend of purples and blues, just like a morning glory and they wave goodbye with silver smiles, writing some lines in George’s journal as per tradition before they left.

After they left, George strolls to the back side of the roof. He had hidden a pot behind the dense foliage of the other plants, veiled by a white sheet. A gift of some sort - bitter, but _well meaning_.

George smiles, a small blue bulb had emerged from the green shoot, pointing upwards towards the sky, any taller and he’d have to move it somewhere else soon-

“A symbol of affection huh?”

He recognises that voice.

“Sapnap,” George turns around. 

The Texan is crouched down by their pots of morning glories, methodically tracing the rims. 

“What are you doing here? I thought you left?” George is pretty sure he didn’t hear the roof door opening, let alone Sapnap’s usually exuberant footsteps. So how is he here?

“Did you know in Chinese folklore, the morning glory symbolizes the meeting of two lovers?” Sapnap asks, eyes still trained on the terracotta containers.

Goosebumps run up George’s arm. George remembers coming across the folklore when preparing for the others today. 

_Two young people falling deeply in love only to be separated by gods when they neglected their duties._

He thought it was insane - _terrifying, that_ these so-called “gods”, all-knowing, all-powerful, could bless whoever they liked and _curse_ whoever they didn’t whenever they liked.

“...And so the gods separated them on opposite sides of the Silver River and decreed that the lovers could only meet on one special day of the year,” Sapnap clicks his tongue with a scowl, “In other words, they symbolise love in vain.”

_The morning glory is a flower of duality. It carries with it stories of mortality, restriction and unrequited love._

In other words. A bad omen.

“Sapnap- why are you telling me this?”

George meets Nick’s cloudy dark brown eyes.

And there’s that lightning again, shaking the very core of his soul, but once again - no thunder follows.

“What did you plant, George?” Sapnap asks, signalling towards the green shoot he was watering before with a _vague_ smile across his face.

George opens his mouth to reply, he doesn’t mind telling him what it is, but for some reason feels like he already _knows_ what it is, he gulps, “Nick, you’re scaring me...”

Although it wasn’t uncommon for the Texan to make weird- EXTREMELY weird remarks (especially when it came to Karl’s ass), he was also elusive, never divulging his intentions and always avoiding personal questions.

Sapnap sighs, to George’s relief, a more familiar friendly expression returns to his face, yet his demeanour remains...mystifying, “Who are _you_ looking at on the opposite side of your river George?”

George SHOULD be confused by this question, but he isn’t. 

Sapnap was talking about the Silver River where the two lovers would spend their days staring, _longing_ , for one another. 

A name comes to mind, pulled out of his mouth by some kind of force:

“Clay.”

He bites his tongue. He hated admitting to himself that he loved Dream - his _best friend._ His name always tasted so sweet on George’s lips one moment and sour the next, it makes him sick-

Thud.

There is a thud. He places a hand on his heart. And it looks like Sapnap heard it too. For a second, Nick averts his eyes, glancing at seemingly nowhere in particular with a _sceptical_ gloom on his face, before changing back into the more familiar exuberance George was used to.

“Aww Gogy!” Sapnap teases, throwing his hands around George in an everyday hug, “So when are you going to ask your lover boy out?”

George blinks, it was as if everything that happened was just a hallucination. Sapnap’s sudden appearance. His vague smile. That weird question. All a hallucination.

He snaps back to reality:

_Oh god, he knows I like Dream._

“I don’t like Dream!” George objects, pushing his sweaty friend aside.

“But you said and I quote,” Sapnap says, straightening himself like some kind of businessman, “I like _Clay_.”

“No! What I meant to say was-”

“Oh I know what you meant to say! You’re going to marry someone else, cheat on them with Dream, object to Dream’s own marriage at his minecraft church wedding and then kiss him in a declaration of love in front of all his friends and family!”

“Wh- WHERE DID YOU EVEN COME UP WITH THAT?!”

Sapnap shrugs aloofly, “Look, point is, you’re _fated_ for Dream! Why wait?! Go ask him out right now!”

“I’m not going to ask him out!”

“Awwwww, why not? Is Gogy shy~?”

“I’m not shy!

Nick narrows his eyes at him, “Likely story.”

“Don’t give me that Snapmap!” George cries, “I- I just can’t!”

“Why not?!”

“Because-”

“Dream likes you George!”

“No he doesn’t!”

Tears threaten to fall at the corner of his eyes, the amount of restless nights he spent thinking about Dream. His freckled face. His dirty blonde hair. His contagious smile. The way he makes him feel like his entire world...only to see him the next day, slacked and _marked_ , like he’s given up on life, the world, everything! Like he’s given up on _him._

Heck, even the lighter Dream gave him when they first met wasn’t his, it was some random chick’s lighter!

“George, you don’t see the way he looks at you!”

“Did he tell you explicitly that he liked me?!”

“Well no, but-”

“No Nick! He didn’t!”

George knows it was unfair of him to blow up at Sapnap, Clay’s childhood friend who would definitely know much more about Dream than he does but-

“Because I KNOW George,” Sapnap exhales, “Believe me. _Please._ ”

“And what if he does like me?! Sapnap, I don’t think I can handle-”

“What George?! What is it?!”

“He just means so much to me Sapnap! His friendship! I _need_ him to be THERE for me and I just can’t- with my sister-”

Sapnap raises his eyebrow in alarm, “Wait what's wrong with your sister?!” 

“She-,” he chews on his bottom lip, “you know how my sister had a relapse right?”

Nick nods.

“The doctors had to move up her surgery date, and-”

_“Georgie, I’m home!”_

He grimaces, “...it would be selfish of me and I also need to focus on graduating this year. I _promised_ her she would get to see me graduate.”

It would be selfish of him to want a new beginning without his sister - with just him and Dream. With just him and Clay.

Sapnap draws back, mumbling to the floor. 

George couldn’t care less about the two lovers. It was their fault. They neglected their duties - the gods only acted in _accordance_.

“It’s for the best,” George mutters.

The wind drifts between them, quiet but tempestuous. There is a buzz and the door creaks open- 

This time a lot more. Noticeable.

“...Dream?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~George’s~~ The Gardening Club’s Tip Of The Day!  
> Morning glories are low-maintenance; just be sure to water during dry periods <3  
> 1\. Germination rates are improved by filing down the seeds just enough to break the coat, then soaking them for 24 hours before planting. This encourages them to send out a root.  
> 2\. Space seeds about 6” apart and cover lightly with 1/4” of soil.  
> 3\. Water thoroughly at planting.


	9. Pansies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pansy  
> /ˈpanzi/  
> noun  
> 1\. a cultivated variety of viola with brightly coloured flowers.  
> 2\. thought.  
> 3\. admiration.  
> 4\. platonic love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: references to suicidal thoughts

Dream lurches up the stairs, careful not to trip over his crutches. His bag is light against his back, devoid of the inebriated weight of glass bottles.

“Oh hey Dream!” Wilbur greets him with a blonde and black haired girl following closely behind, “Going to the roof?”

Dream nods, “How was the gardening club?”

“It was really fun, we’re planning to drop by next week as well.”

“That’s great!”

He smiles, swinging up the stairs, humming to himself in excitement. George had really stepped out of his comfort zone for this one and Dream doesn’t regret a thing. He stops by the door, struggling to turn the knob with both his hands occupied. Groaning, he lays the crutches aside, opting to use his elbow instead-

“...the morning glory symbolizes the meeting of two lovers...”

He recognises that voice.

_Sapnap?_

“In other words, they symbolize love in vain.”

_What is that motherfucker going on about?_

He knows he shouldn’t but Dream leans in closer.

“What did you plant, George?”

“Nick, you’re scaring me...”

“Who are _you_ looking at on the opposite side of the river George?”

Clay’s heart speeds up. From what he could tell, Sapnap was asking George about who he likes. He becomes no different than a lovesick teenage girl: giddy and irrational, with his ear now pressing against the door.

The ‘C’ he longs for arrives.

“Clay.”

He lingers, a breath caught at the back of his throat. Clay couldn’t believe it. George likes him!

No.

George likes him TOO.

And that's all that matters. So much so that in his fever, he accidentally knocks his crutches against the wall.

Thud.

He cringes. Surely they must have heard it? The door is now ajar, letting in a ray of blinding light. Dream peeks out, an eye through the gap. George doesn’t seem to notice him, he lets out a breath in relief. But Nicks’s brief narrowed eyes say otherwise. Clay gulps, his hands sweaty, gripping his crutches with all his might. He could explain his precarious position to Sapnap, but not to George. Last thing Clay wants is to betray his trust, friend or not.

“Go ask him out right now!”

Sapnap does not reveal the crack in the door.

“I’m not going to ask him out!”

Clay chews on his bottom lip, crumpling up on himself, his drafted confession thrown like paper in the bin.

“Dream likes you George!”

“No he doesn’t!”

The last straw breaks the camel’s back, in this case it breaks Dream’s heart. Did George really think that way? For some reason, he feels guilty. The brunette is his whole world. And more. His paper thrown, his feelings burnt into emissions.

“He just means so much to me Sapnap! His friendship! I _need_ him to be THERE for me and I just can’t- with my sister-”

Dream doesn’t need to be an expert in global warming to know what happens next.

Consequence.

“The doctors had to move up her surgery date, and-”

_No._

“It’s for the best.”

It takes Dream all the strength in his body to not spill the blood from his lip. But this time, he leans in too far and the door creaks open. Loudly.

“...Dream?”

George and Sapnap are staring right at him. They know he’s here now, there is no getting out of that. So the only thing he can do is hope that they don’t know how long he was here for.

How MUCH he was here for.

“George!” Dream yells, putting on his signature smile and tugging his heartstrings back.

George seems convinced by his act. Dream knows this because his shoulders slump back in relief, not knowing that he had overheard their conversation.

It was for the best.

Sapnap on the other hand, remains a stick-in-the-mud.

“Dream!” George gushes, his smile effortlessly cute.

“George!”

Sapnap, giving in to Clay’s dodging eyes, joins in, “Dream!”

“...”

“...”

“Sapnap...” Sapnap murmurs, giving himself a small cheer.

They snicker at the youngest.

“I’ll help you,” George offers, pulling Dream’s bag off his shoulder and “accidentally” kicking his crutch.

Dream rolls his eyes, wobbling to sit down next to a small pot. Growing out of it is a small cascade of purple hearts and yellow gradients.

He frowns, “Pansies?”

“Mhm it’s for you, I grew them when you were not around.” George hums seemingly naive.

Clay plucks one, twirling it between his thumb and his index finger.

_The ideal gift for a friend, pansies are best used as a symbol of - platonic love._

Dream huffs, a defeatist.

_If this would reassure him._

He stretches himself to tuck the flower behind George’s ear, brushing his soft hair back.

“Pretty," Clay smiles with nothing more than _admiration_ in his eyes.

George blushes, the pink on cheeks like clouds during a sunrise.

“I- I’m going to go get my phone from my locker!” the flustered brunette shrieks, sprinting, legs kicking back out the door.

“Dude what was that?” Sapnap jabs.

“Just thought it would suit him.”

He avoids Sapnap’s questioning gaze, turning back to the pansies.

The atmosphere is static, making his hairs stand on its ends. Dream plucks another one out. And another one. And another one. Oh how much he just wants to _rip_ them all from their stems-

“Dream,” Sapnap firmly calls.

Dream stops, turning to look at him, “Sapnap.”

The two stare at each other, the darkness from the setting sun snakes between them. Both of them waiting for the other to snap.

Nick sighs, rubbing his forehead together, “I’ll always lose to you huh Dream?”

“Here,” Dream offers him the torn out pansies, though his smirk is confident, his hand subtly trembling from the horrific realisation of what he was doing, “a consolation prize.”

“Wow, how thoughtful Dream,” Sapnap remarks, his tone dripping in sarcastic enthusiasm.

Clay shrugs, frantically tossing the petals into the compliant wind as if trying to disintegrate the evidence. The electricity sizzles out now. There is a chime in the air. A singing song bird returning to its nest.

Having been friends for so long, it was difficult not to return to a comfortable silence.

Sapnap goes over to Dream’s bag, peeking inside of it and smiling approvingly at the older when he sees the hollow bottom. Nick had always constantly nagged him about his “habits”, even convincing Clay to talk to his parents once.

Once and _only_ once.

A swollen eye and a new “habit” of flinching later, he gave up. Dream couldn’t blame him, he had given up too. But Nick would still accompany him to parties. Because though he couldn’t stop Dream from losing himself to the heat and the booze over and over again, he would at least make sure that his best friend got a place to stay for the night, along with making excuses for him to his parents. Because both of them knew that if not, Nick would not only have to empty the bottles from his bag, but the _hangers_ from his closet. And Clay is forever thankful for it.

Forever thankful for him.

He smiles back, “Where did you learn about that Chinese myth by the way?”

“I had a feeling you were eavesdropping,” Sapnap amusingly scowls, cramming his hands in his jeans, “I could sense your thicc ass from miles away and it’s not even dumptruck dreamcember yet.”

“Ew,” Dream wheezes, “Do you just ogle at my butt half the time or something?”

“Hell no, why would I when my sweetpea already has a tighter ass!”

They break into laughter.

“So where did you learn that folklore from? I don’t recall learning it in history,” Dream inquires again after recollecting himself.

“That’s because you’re never in history you dumbass.”

“Touche. Touche.”

It was true that Nick always had a natural affinity for history, having consistently scored the top marks in the class despite playing Minecraft for half of it. He knew time like the back of his hand. Great when timekeeping in football, redundant when making excuses because it meant that when Sapnap was late - he was being PURPOSELY late. But hey, the amount of burpees Dream made him do to make up for it wasn’t all that bad when Karl came along (if you know what I mean).

“Why? Would you like to know what happened to them?” Sapnap trills.

Dream raises his eyebrow, “Yeah sure I guess.”

Sapnap drags his index finger across his neck in a theatrical slicing motion.

“They died? Did they at least die together?” Dream asks, feeling sorry for the young couple.

Nick nods reassuringly, shifting his gaze over to the pot of daffodils that Dream and George had set up in the corner like a shrine as a joke and chuckling at it, “Yes they did...”

Clay waits for Sapnap’s explanation. After all, didn’t the gods forbid them from meeting one another? But it never comes.

“Do you believe in gods Dream?”

Dream slouches back, “Can’t say that I do, do you?”

Sapnap shrugs, “Not anymore.”

“I didn’t know you were a Christian.”

“I’m talking about _gods_ Dream, not God.”

“What were you part of the spaghetti monster religion or something?”

(It’s a real thing, search it up).

Nick groans, “You have a vivid imagination Dream, anyone ever told you that?”

“All the time,” he boasts, “It’s one of my redeeming qualities.”

“More like your only redeeming quality,” Sapnap sniggers, a bit detached, “Ha, I wish. Life would be so much simpler if all I had to do was wear a colander on my head 24/7, but I’d also look stupid.”

“I think you already look stupid 24/7.”

He sticks his tongue out at Dream, “So what are you going to do?”

“...What am I going to do about what?!”

“George! Weren’t you eavesdropping?”

“Ok first of all, I didn’t even mean to eavesdrop, it was an accident and I just didn’t want to limp back all the way down the stairs.”

“Yeah right and tell me, once you accidentally “stumbled” across his feelings for you, you were planning on confessing to him weren’t you?”

“No, I wasn’t!”

“Don’t give me that bullshit Dream.”

“Fine, I was,” Clay mutters, “But I’m not confessing to him anymore!”

“And why not?!” Sapnap shouts bewilderedly, his voice bordering a yell.

“Cause’ Sap, I don’t want to selfishly take George away from his sister! And if- if what he wants is our friendship then-”

The brunette could smile, and it’d light up the whole room - and he wants to be _in the room_ to see it.

“Dream if you were gonna eavesdrop could you at least do it properly! He said YOU mean so much to him.”

“Same thing,” Dream snarls.

“You’re just being a pussy,” barks Sapnap.

“WHAT?! SAPNAP! I’M BEING SERIOUS!”

He marches up to him and Dream has never felt so small. Nick’s black eyes are like the center of a hurricane, calm but only for that minute. It is followed by raging thunderstorms and then - gone, back to calm.

Sapnap scoffs mockingly, crossing his arms together, “I’ll tell you what Dream, confess to George _first_ , and I- I won’t tell everyone about that time you- you pissed all over the bed!”

“What?! That was one time Sapnap!”

“I’m a little pissbaby!” Nick shouts, poking fun with a high-pitched voice.

“Nick!”

Sapnap puts his hands on Dream’s shoulders, “Don’t let me down THIS TIME Dream...please.”

“Sapnap I-”

“DREAM!”

The door slams open, a flock of crows that were perched on the cable line harshly thrash away at the sudden noise.

It takes a while for Clay to register what was happening, George had run right into his arms. He stiffens up, trying to keep him at arm’s length, struggling to find the words tingling in his chest. But the dream quickly turns into a _nightmare_ when he realises that the Brit is crying.

George sobs in the crook of his neck, tears falling down his face like a gorging waterfall.

“G-George? George! What’s wrong?!” Dream exclaims, gripping George tightly in his arms, his heart’s instinct. A twisting feeling. It all happens so fast.

“MY SISTER, MY SISTER SHE’S-” George chokes. Clay feels his heart still-

_Consequence._

She’s dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sapnap’s Gardening Tip For ~~Dummies~~ Dumb Bitches <3  
> During cold-climate winters, apply a protective covering of straw to safeguard roots against rapid temperature fluctuations and heaving ;)  
> 1\. Space the plants about 7-12” apart in moist, humus-rich, well-drained soil.  
> 2\. Water thoroughly.


	10. White Clovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> white clover  
> /wʌɪt/ˈkləʊvə/  
> noun  
> 1\. a creeping white-flowered European clover which is an important fodder plant.  
> 2\. promise.  
> 3\. think of me.  
> 4\. be mine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: borderline smut (kissing and mild humping)

It is the end of spring. The inky silhouettes of the trees claw across the chalky sky, their black branches reaching it like the fingers of a witch. Crows gather to cry for the occasion, at the tombstone that stands erect on the rocky and ungrateful soil. 

He places a bouquet of snow white clovers at the foot of her body. A parting gift suited to the singing angels of heaven as the humans part with their monotone chorus:

“She went away with a smile.”

“We did everything we could.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss.”

But those words might as well have fallen on death’s ear, along with her empty promises of a new beginning.

_“Georgie, Georgie, I’m home! Come out, come out wherever you are! George I swear if you don’t come out right now I’m going to eat ALL YOUR CHOCOLATE RAISINS!”_

_George, appalled by the threat, ran out from under the bed, “Emma! That’s mine!”_

His sister smiled at him with a mischievous glint in her eyes, picking a raisin out and dropping it in her mouth as he tried to climb up the kitchen counter.

_“George!”_

He had knocked over her box of cigarettes. Thankfully, none spilled. She picked him up, placed him on the kitchen counter and handed him the box of chocolate raisins.

_“Don’t tell mum and dad ok?”_

George, being only 5 years old, just nodded blissfully, not knowing that he’d come home to a room full of asphyxiating smoke for the rest of his life.

It _was_ supposed to be for the rest of his life.  
  


_“Hey George, I promise it’s nothing. I’ll be out of the hospital before you know it and we can start anew.”_

George looked at his once lively sister, her wrists had become stick thin, hooked up to a collection of beeping yellow machines. But he still blissfully nodded anyways, holding out his pinky in a hook.

It seemed stupid at that time.

_“Promise?”_

_“Promise.”_

But now, he stands before her grave. Conflicted. Because despite all her promises, her dying expression - was the liveliest he’s ever seen.

“George,” a comforting hand rests on his shoulder, “we need to get inside somewhere, it’s going to start raining soon.”

He doesn’t want to go anywhere but he lets himself get pulled along, past crowds of yellows and signboards of blues. The rain starts pouring down. 

They meander through the darkening streets and alleys, a hand laces with his as they pick up the pace. It’s warm.

“Dream,” George calls, halting the blonde to a stop.

Like the first time they met, they are a wet mess, their clothes clinging on to their chests. Instead, the bright memory turns to black with the colour of grief.

“George,” Dream pulls him closer, trapping him in his arms, putting his arms over his head to shelter him from the rain.

George tugs on his sleeves, looking into his yellow eyes. 

He mouths something.

_Take me away._

Clay hesitates for a moment, his lips part briefly for a breath. But he gives George a reassuring nod anyways. 

Once again, he is pulled along to Dream’s limping leg, which was fresh out of its cast. This time, their laughter drowns out the rain as they scramble away, completely lost to each other’s company. George kicks over puddles and tightens his hold on Dream’s hand, holding on to all he has left. 

It makes the younger’s ears go red.

Neither wanting to go home - or having a home to go back to, they check into a nearby motel.

They stumble into the room, holding up their damp shoes and wrapping themselves in towels. It is a neat little room with a twin bed to boost. They would stay here for as long as George wanted. For as long as George needed. 

Dream runs his fingers through George’s fluffy hair, ruffling it with a towel.

“Dream!” George titters, turning his head up to look at the Floridian, his clothes a disheveled mess.

Clay gulps, averting his gaze for George, “I’m going to go get more towels from the bathroom.”

George nods, taking the chance to slip off his soaked pullover hoodie. 

Thunk. 

The very same box of cigarettes from that first day falls out from his hoodie’s pocket. Likewise, he is drawn to it, picking it up from the ground slowly and thankfully, it didn’t spill out-

“George!”

It gets knocked out of his hand and his wrists are wrapped by a familiar set of warm hands. The overwhelming energy knocking him onto the bed. Dream’s eyes are locked on to him, wavering, his heart skips a beat.

“Dream?”

“Don’t- do that to yourself ever again,” mutters Clay, holding his fingers up to George’s cheeks and wiping his dried-up tears.

Something in George cracks and like a dam, it overflows. 

He wonders if Dream is like this to everybody and not just him. 

Would it be selfish of him? Would Clay be patient to love him and only him?

Clay is caressing his face, with the most loving expression George has ever seen. 

Yes, Clay loves him.

He uses all the strength he has left, to push himself up with his arm, “C-can I kiss you?” George spills. His eyes are glazed and Dream meets it with an awkward thin smile.

“Yes.”

They lock lips. It’s warm. Dream leans in, kissing back with the same force - the same _longing_.

They weren’t drunk, but they might as well have been. Their emotions are raw. Honest.

George grips a fistful of his shirt, lifting it off his body. He has never craved something so much. Dream does the same, trailing his lips down the Brit’s pretty pale neck, admiring every inch of him. He sucks, running his tongue over the red marks as he slides down. 

George whimpers from the pure euphoria.

The heat rushes to Clay’s head, short-circuiting his mind. “Fuck, George,” he huffs heavily, readjusting himself, his head thumping against the headboard and George straddling his hips.

Hot air bounces off their lips, erotic moans, loud and unrestrained, escape as their tongues continue to dance, leaving a string of saliva between their mouths.

He presses George’s thighs down, grunting at the tight friction, tilting his head back.

George blushes at the bulges between them, following in sync as he wraps his hand behind Dream’s neck. Their bodies light and dizzy.

“Georgie, you’re so cute,” Clay chuckles lowly, peppering kisses on the older’s sunken eyelids. 

“Dream, can I?” George asks, eyeing Dream’s pants.

Clay swiftly flips them over, hastily unfastening their belts, whilst making sure to whisper sweet nothings into George’s ears.

“Think of me,” he licks his lips possessively. “And only me.”

Just like George wants Clay to love only him, Dream wants George to be only his, to keep him and protect him from anything and anyone that would hurt him, to think of him and-

George tenses.

"George, I- I'm sorry I-” Dream stops immediately at the sight of shattered tears falling out of the older’s eyes. He quickly helps George to sit up and pulls back to give the other space. 

They are both madly disarranged, their shirts on the floor, marks all over their necks and their lips red, breathing in each other’s breaths, the warmness that is spread rose pink across their faces. 

“Dream I-”

“George I-”

It takes a dense lovestruck idiot not to realise the hilarity of the situation.

George breaks out in laughter, crying more than he did before. Dream does the same, lightly touching their foreheads together as if they were telepathically confirming what each were going to say.

“Dream I-”

“No George, I’m saying it first!” 

Dream snickers, shyly squeezing his hand for permission before pressing his lips against his. Compared to their previous kisses, this kiss is clumsy, simple - but gentle and it tastes like the outside rain.

George smiles into the kiss.

Dream does the same. 

“George,” he softly declares, “I like you.”

“I-” 

The words hang from his mouth, but he is unable to say it. Because although his heart is chasing it, he is also tired, worn out and drained from always running. Dream understandingly rubs his thumb over George’s knuckles.

He needed time to heal.

“I’ll wait for you.”

His breath hitches, “W-what?”

“You heard me George, I’ll wait for you,” Clay continues, “For as long as it takes, for as long as you need - I’ll wait for you.”

George giggles wobbly, using his hands to wipe his incoming tears, “You idiot, why’d you choose me knowing you’d have to wait for me.” 

Dream moves his hands aside, exposing his glassy brown eyes and gazing deeply into them, reminding him just how much he likes him - how much he _loves_ him. “George, I’ll choose you and I’ll choose you, over and over and over. Without a pause, without a doubt, in a heartbeat, I’ll keep choosing you,” he giggles back, “Because I love you.”

George’s body feels light, like floating into space itself, into Dream’s sunny eyes, to his speckled starry freckles and back. 

Right back to Clay again.

He nods blissfully, holding out his shaking pinky, “Promise?”

“Promise,” Dream grins brightly back at him, taking him in his hand.

For now, a new beginning would have to wait. But in this cosy room and on their spacious roof, the flowers had only just fully bloomed and they had all the time - left, in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~Dream’s~~ Gardening ~~Tip Of The Day :)~~ Notes  
>  ~~Occasionally white clovers can be affected by viruses, if a clover stands fail as a result of viruses, the only option is to reseed!~~  
>  1\. Broadcast the seeds over the soil surface, less than 1/4” deep.  
> 2\. Sprinkle a 1/4” layer of soil over the seeds and water them in.


	11. Blooper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What would have happened if they continued to fuck.  
> For all you horny pieces of shits.  
> Enjoy “:)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: short smut

“Think of me,” he licks his lips. “And only me.”

George rolls his eyes back in pleasure as Dream pumps him.

“Clay~”

Dream moves one of his hands up George’s chest, flicking his hard nipples with his fingertips.

George lets out a muffled moan, doing the same to Dream and going along with his rhythm.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck-” 

“George I-”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trauma for me, trauma for you <3
> 
> Kudos to all the smut writers out there, it’s difficult to write heated scenes and not lose your sanity.
> 
> On a more serious note, this is a HIGH SCHOOL AU and last I checked this makes students fall under the age range of 14-18. Since George is currently 24 irl, I made him 18 and Dream, who is 21 irl, 17. Everyone else gets rounded along that spectrum, like Sapnap who is 19 and since he is closer to Dream’s age, he’s 17 in this work. 
> 
> I didn’t feel comfortable going all the way with high school students and also felt like it would defeat the purpose and sincerity of Dream’s confession.
> 
> Originally, I also planned for there to be more chapters to drag out the drama and heartburn so Dream wasn’t even supposed to confess in the chapter! But felt like it didn’t make sense to their close relationship, them as characters and the lore.
> 
> And that’s how ‘White Clovers’ became the main hurt/comfort chapter. Most of the hurt/comfort that will happen subsequently are behind the scenes and the following chapters aren’t really centred around the recovery process but more of the result of it and what it means for their new beginning :)
> 
> But hey, smut is still on the table for the future o-0
> 
> XOXO,  
> Lilith Of The Alley


	12. Side Story, Buttercups

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> buttercup  
> /ˈbʌtəkʌp/  
> noun  
> 1\. a herbaceous plant with bright yellow cup-shaped flowers, which is common in grassland and as a garden weed.  
> 2\. neatness.  
> 3\. childishness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A TommyInnit side story, not really related to the plot or a particular time in the main storyline, just thought it might be fun to post some gardening fluff and mild angst.
> 
> tw: none  
> ps: there's a lot of lore hints in this so look out for it, and feel free to comment your theories!
> 
> Enjoy <3

To be a revolutionary, is to change the world. And ever since he was young, Tommy Soot Innit had always wanted to be one. It was in his blood, he just knew it. The glory of the battle and the rallies behind the lines. It was meant for him. 

But right now, he is in history class. Quiet and _restless_.

“The Manberg Revolution was an ideological and political revolution which occurred between 1765 and 1783 which prompted the establishment of the America we know and love today...”

Tommy sarcastically rolls his eyes internally. He sighs, racking his mind for insults he could throw at his babbling teacher.

Because why learn about a revolution when you can fight in one? When can you START one?

But ambitions aside, as his older brothers CONSTANTLY reminded him about, he was still a “child”, and children just aren’t taken seriously.

“...General J.Schlatt led the Manberg Army against the Pogtopian Parliament alongside-”

“Daryll Laurens, Zachary Mulligan, Marquis de Blade and-”

“Good to know that you’re using your Hamilton knowledge Mr. Innit but may I remind you you’re in MY history class and not some dumb broadway musical,” the teacher snarks.

“American,” Tommy mutters under his breath, returning to twirling his pencil between his fingers. He slips one of his wireless earphones on, triple-checking to make sure that it was connected to the bluetooth on his phone. 

‘Hamilton (Original Broadway Cast Recording)’

Well, it is as close as he was going to get to an actual revolution for now, other than football. He shuffles, hiding his ear with his sleeves and turning the volume slightly up.

_[How does a bastard, orphan, son of a whore and a Scotsman, dropped in the middle of a forgotten spot in the Caribbean by providence impoverished in squalor, grow up to be a hero and a scholar?]_

He tunes his teacher’s monotone lesson out, letting the rhythmic rap take his attention.

_[The ten-dollar founding father without a father got a lot farther by working a lot harder...]_

To him, Hamilton was an inspiration. A self-made man by the age of 16. Tommy, on the other hand, was still a slave to the broken American education system, picking away at mountains of source work all of which he already learnt about from back at his old school in England. He places the nib of his pen on the table, tapping it to the beat.

_[And every day while slaves were being slaughtered and carted away across the waves, he struggled and kept his guard up...]_

Like most teenagers, Tommy is lost. He doesn’t actually know what he wants to do with his life. But he damn well knows he isn’t figuring it out anytime soon as long as he is boxed up in a concrete school.

_[Then a hurricane came, and devastation reigned, our man saw his future drip, dripping down the drain...]_

He shakes his leg.

_[Well, the word got around, they said,]_

“This kid is insane man,” he murmurs brashly.

_[And the world is gonna know your name. What's your name, man?!]_

“Nich-”

“MR. TOMMY INNIT.”

Tommy snaps his head up. The stares and snickers of his classmates are on him. He gulps, his teacher is about to blow.

“LUNCHTIME DETENTION,” she bursts, “AND I’LL BE SURE TO NOTIFY YOUR FATHER OF THIS TOO.”

He keeps his expression straight in mock defiance, poking fun at her weak threat in his mind.

 _Seriously, my father?_ _That’s the best she could do?_

He stifles a scoff. 

“You just think you’re so clever aren’t you? So grown up? Your father’s the head teacher, your brothers are well-accomplished students. They’re all successful, but what about you Tommy? What are you?”

She glares at him and he boils up in anger. How is he supposed to know? Isn’t that her job? To provide opportunities and make sure he achieves his ambitions? Stupid high school education.

He glares back, irritated that she actually had the nerve to expect an answer. Because they both know that even if he knew, he would never be taken seriously. 

So he doesn’t take it seriously.

“I’m, the dirty crime...kid.”

Ok, maybe he should have been a little more serious.

The whole class laughs, even more when the teacher’s expression twitches in annoyance.

“Your devices. Now,” she demands, snatching them away when he hands it to her, “I’ll make sure to hand them to your older brother, you can pick them up from him later.”

Tommy raises his eyebrow at his teacher’s smug expression, “Which brother?”

No doubt both his older brothers will be upset at him when they hear what he’s done but both would also react in very different ways. He could annoy Wilbur into giving his devices up to him sooner but not Techno. And a foreboding feeling tells him he is going to need more than one vlog gun for this.

“David. I’ll be sure to tell him what you’ve done too.”

Tommy scowls and shuffles back in his seat. Though his music is now gone, he ignores the teacher and spends the rest of the class looking out the window, tapping his feet to the lost beat.

───── ❃ ─────

“Hey Tom, heard from Jack that you got detention,” his brother, Tubbo, says, giving him a sympathetic look when he slams his head onto the lunch table.

“Tubbo, I love women, especially the Queen, but she,” he hisses, referring to his teacher, “she’s not pog.”

“Very not pog,” Toby nods in agreement. 

“Duck!” Tommy shouts, stooping his and Tubbo’s head down behind his lunch bag.

“What is it?”

“She’s here,” he scowls. His history teacher had walked into the canteen. 

“Wait you got lunchtime detention, didn’t you? I thought you got after school!”

“Well change of plans,” Tommy declares, cautiously getting up from the bench and starting to stealthily sneak out of the canteen. Tubbo sighs and follows behind. 

“Dad’s going to be even more mad.”

“Dadza? Mad? Pfft- he’s the least of my problems.”

Tommy shudders his shoulders. He is more worried about Techno. The Blade was never going to let him see the light of day again, more specifically, his cardboard cutout of Queen Elizabeth II. He needed to go somewhere safe. Away from teachers and away from his brother’s Theseus lecture. “Tubbo, we’re going to the roof.”

“What? We can’t just budge onto the roof! What if there’s a club session going on right now?”

“A club session?”

“Yeah, the gardening club.”

“Gardening club? Sounds dumb stupid and dumb,” Tommy glowered.

“You know Dream’s going to be there right?”

Tommy stops, pondering whether to walk up the stairs. As his mentor, Dream was tiresome and strict. But he always took him seriously during football. Tommy sprints up the stairs, pulling his brother along. He could handle Dream- 

And Dream could handle Technoblade! 

“Dream! Oh that bitch-” Tommy swears, “There’s only that dick Sapnap!”

The roof is quiet even though it’s the height of summer. Pollen saturates the air, suspended in the still wind. It itches his nose, almost making him sneeze. 

“Hey! Hasn’t Motherinnit taught you manners Tommy?” Nick snides. A strong gust blows by, dispersing the tingling pollen, allowing Tommy to breathe and think a little better. 

Great, with Dream not here, he has no sword against Techno. Looks like he’ll just have to use Sapnap as a shield.

“Don’t even think about it child,” the Texan cautions, slumping against the roof’s railing and continuing to water a pot of daffodils whilst shooting him a chide knowing look. 

“Then where’s Dream?” Tommy vexes, strolling over to Nick.

“I don’t know and hey! Don’t touch that!” Sapnap scolds him for touching the daffodils.

“Yeah and what are you going to do about it!” Tommy opposes, going to pluck the petals. A gust of wind blows by again, an even stronger one, brewing up a storm of pollen in the air. He sneezes, “ACHOO!”

“Bless you,” Toby consoles.

Tommy thanks him and goes back to scowling at Sapnap who swats his hand away.

“It’s just a flower!”

“And that flower is MUCH older than you Tommy,” Nick explains, pulling some tissues out of his pocket and handing some to Tommy, “What are you doing here anyways?”

He shrugs, “Lunchtime detention. Look can you just text Dream for me”

“No. Dream’s...busy right now,” Sapnap says, the second half of his sentence so soft, Tommy barely catches it. 

“Hey my friend are you-”

“Tom! Look!” Tubbo unknowingly interrupts them, pointing to a pot of small yellow flowers.

“They’re buttercups,” affirms Sapnap. 

Tommy goes along with Tubbo to look at the flowers. It made sense, the petals were held together like a cup.

“POG,” Tubbo remarks, twinkling at them.

Tommy beams too, “POGCHAMP INDEED.”

“Yeah just don’t eat them, they’re poisonous,” Nick jokingly states, but gets up and goes over to them just to make sure anyways. He takes a few glances at his watch, contemplating something before looking back at them, “Y’all want to learn how to plant some?”

Tommy looks to Tubbo who nods bashfully in agreement.

Sapnap goes to the back of the roof, coming back with a tray of already soaked corms. He hands them a bag of soil and a trowel. They fill an empty pot with the alluvial soil. Nick starts with a few pits, letting Tommy and Tubbo dig the rest. 

“Buttercups are part of a genus called Ranunculus which comes from an ancient Greek legend,” Sapnap tells whilst guiding them to cover the seeds with soil, “A young boy of the same name, who often wore the most vibrant of yellow and green silks, often sang for a group of wood nymphs.”

“Wood nymphs?” Tubbo inquires.

“Minor female nature deities, supposedly very kind and shy.”

“Supposedly?”

“Well at least to humans they are,” Sapnap mutters and shrugs, “Anyways, however, Ranunculus became so naively mystified and entranced by his own voice, he died. To honor his memory, my fri- Orpheus, transformed him into the buttercup, a symbol of neatness and childishness.”

“That’s weirdchamp,” Tommy comments, generously watering the plant and maybe adding a bit too much mulch, “And stupid.”

“He was much like you Tommy,” Sapnap snarkily remarks, staying out of Tommy’s trajectory when he threatens him with the trowel. “I mean, not in the naive sense, but in terms of childishness and it’s ok to be childish.”

Tommy grits his teeth, “Yeah, but no one takes you seriously.” 

“It doesn’t seem like you’re taking yourself seriously either Tommy.”

“No," he sighs, scraping away at the potted soil, "No I’m not.”

“You have it in you to be a Theseus Tommy. Just don’t expect to be the hero of the story.”

“Then what am I supposed to be? The villain?”

Nick pats him on the back, “I’ll let you in on a little secret. In every life you have been and will be both the hero and the villain of this story. Ultimately, it depends on who history perceives you to be in that moment. But it is the legacy that will stand the test of time and destiny. So take your chance Tommy and fight for your own. That’s the true meaning of being a revolutionary.”

Tommy gapes at him, wide-eyed, “Did you just rip that off from Hamilton Nick?” 

“Well if anything, Hamilton ripped that off from me.”

“Haha very funny. I get it, it’s because you’re named after hi-”

“Tommy! Tubbo!” 

His dad had walked through the roof door. “Hi dad, Phil, my mannn!??” he greets, nervously checking behind him for his older brother. “Look Dad I can explain-”

“HEY THESEUS!” 

Oh no. Techno starts pacing towards him. Tommy tenses up, getting ready to pog out of there, expecting to be scolded with lectures on responsibility or made to run around the field ten times. But his brother just stands before him and ruffles his and Tubbo’s hair. “Ready to go home?”

“What?!” Tommy exclaims, startled, “Aren’t you going to scold me for skipping detention?”

“But you didn’t skip detention though?” his dad chimes, “Your teachers got an email two hours ago saying you were out on club notice. So you didn’t need to go for detention.”

Tommy scrunches his nose, even more confused. They weren’t even on the roof up until an hour ago though? So how?

“Did you guys plant these?” David asks, pointing at the buttercup corms that he and Tubbo had planted.

“Yeah we did!” Tubbo bubbles.

Techno signals to the pot of bloomed buttercups, “And they’ll look like these when they bloom?” 

“...Yep,” Tommy answers, still very puzzled by the whole situation but relieved that he wasn’t going to get scolded. “Woah there, that’s Dream’s!”

Techno plucks two flowers from the pot and places one each in his younger brother’s hair, “It’s fine, he owes me a favour anyway for absolutely obliterating the other teams all by myself during this football season.”

Tommy picks it back out from his hair, thinking it looks childish and stupid on him. 

“So you’re officially part of the gardening club now Tommy?” Philza asks.

“No, no, no, no, no, I did not sign up for this.”

“And why not?”

“It’s GARDENING, no one will take me seriously!” he rebukes, “No offence Sapnap.”

Nick rolls his eyes in the corner.

“It doesn’t matter if you’re not taken seriously,” his dad says, “Did you ENJOY gardening Tommy?”

“Y-yes?” Tommy replies. Honestly, he not only enjoyed gardening with Tubbo, but also for himself, but...

“Then sign up!”

“But it’s fucking childish!”

Tommy knows it’s not true, but it sure feels that way. He can’t help but feel that way about everything he does and sometimes, it’s suffocating.

“There’s nothing wrong about doing what you like Tommy,” Techno firmly says, tucking the flower back to his ear, “It may be childish, but it’s not naive and that’s all that matters.” 

He looks up at his brother who smiles gently at him which he rarely does and when he does, he always does so awkwardly. 

“I’m glad you want to grow up so fast Tommy, as you family, we’ll always support you, even if you’re really annoying,” David continues, “If someone's not taking you seriously, me and Wilbur will happily beat them up because only WE are allowed to call you a child.”

Tommy grins back brightly. In actuality, Tommy was anxious, not because he couldn’t be taken seriously but because he didn’t _want_ to be. He knows his family loves him, but he also knows that he has to grow up eventually and he’s worried he isn’t going to figure out what he wants to do before then. So it’s comforting to be reminded that they know that too, that they’ll always let him be a child around them - let him _stay_ a child, no matter which side of the revolution he is on. “Sooo I’m annoying?”

“Most people find you really annoying, Theseus.”

Philza laughs in agreement, “So how about it?”

“Tubbo?” Tommy looks to him for a final reassurance.

“Sign me up Sapnap!” Toby declares.

“Me too,” he agrees, “But only because I want to skip class like Dream.”

Philza lightly smacks him at the back of his head, “Well we should get going, your mum’s cooking your favourite potatoes for dinner. Thanks for taking care of them Nick.” 

“Wha- he didn’t take care of us!”

“Yeah, more like he babysitted you guys,” Techno snickers, giving Nick a brief thanking nod and pushing his protesting brothers out the door.

“Sorry about them Sapnap,” Philza apologised.

“Pfft- anytime, they remind me a lot about how I was like a long time ago,” Sapnap chuckles and waves goodbye to them, “especially towards my own older brothers. They found me really annoying too.”

Philza waves back, so glad that his children have someone so understanding of them he doesn’t even register the second half of Sapnap’s sentence until later at dinner.

“Hey son, do Nick’s older brothers go to our school?” he asks, helping his wife clean up the table.

Techno stops mid sword fight with Tommy and tilts his head at him, visibly confused. “You’re talking about Sapnap right?”

Philza hums, “Yeah, he said he has older brothers.”

“Dad, Nick’s an only child.”

A chill runs up Philza's spine. He dismisses it as the cold from the summer storm brewing outside. “Oh, I must be mistaken then,” he concludes. He probably misheard him.

But what he didn’t realise was that he didn't mishear Nick. Instead he mistook it, because Sapnap never said he _has_ older brothers...

...he said he _had._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ~~Child’s~~ BIG MAN HIMSELF Gardening Tip Of The Day with Tubbo!  
> If you’re growing buttercups in a particularly warm and sunny climate, mulch around the base of the plants to help keep the soil at a cooler temperature. Then you’ll get all the ~~women!~~ bees :D  
> 1\. Soak the corms for an hour before planting.  
> 2\. Plant them 2" deep and 4-6" apart with the claw side down.  
> 3\. Cover with soil and water.  
> 4\. Mulch around the plants to keep the soil cool and moist.


	13. a little author's note <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mocks is over and I'm on break, so I'll be posting more often for the next few weeks <3
> 
> The next chapter is technically the last chapter of THIS story, so yeah, major character "death"...so look forward to it?
> 
> Here's the poem i wrote for buttercups!
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> PS: I know I was supposed to post more during the break but actually it's going to be more like a hiatus while I re-do some chapters in Grammarly ":))
> 
> Sorry and thanks for all the support!

**Buttercups**

Holding a cup in your hand,

The yellow drinks fizzle,

Pop! With childish delight.

A fresh poison I only give to you,

An elixir of growth,

Withering. But we’ll never grow old!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I plan to make more side stories later on, think a one-shot series revolving around the other characters and the gardening club just like in Buttercups!
> 
> It won’t be strictly ship related or main characters related so feel free to suggest anything you would like to see in the future!
> 
> XOXO,  
> Lilith Of The Alley
> 
> Just a little rant, go ahead and ignore this:  
> I had a really good idea when I made the lore and this fic, I genuinely had not seen it done anywhere for this fandom and was very excited to share it. 
> 
> I'm STILL very excited to, but I've also seen the trope I had in mind being done recently. Obviously, this is only the trope that the lore is based off, so I can always switch it up a bit, but in any case I'm not planning to rush it that much because it's really important to me soo, remember me lol :)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading <3  
> I love reading your comments and theories so please, serotonin boost me :)))
> 
> Follow me!  
> Wattpad: [LilithOfTheAlley](https://www.wattpad.com/user/LilithOfTheAlley) (i don't post all my works on it though, since i mainly use AO3)  
> Insta: [@lilith._.alley](https://www.instagram.com/lilith._.alley/)  
> Twitter: [lilith_alley](https://twitter.com/lilith_alley)  
> Tumblr: [lilithofthealley](http://lilithofthealley.tumblr.com)


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